Dreams and Drabbles
by kittenintheden
Summary: A dumping-ground for my favorite SoMa one-shots and drabbles. All chapters are individually contained. Some silly, some sad, some AU, some lemony. Lemons are marked as such up top.
1. Halloween Night

**A/N:** This was for a Halloween prompt. It's very silly.

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><p>This was his night. He could feel it.<p>

Red eyes and white hair shone in the dark as he watched, choosing his victim. The vermin were out in packs tonight, walking from street to street without ever suspecting their doom stood hidden in the shadow of a nearby building. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Razor teeth glinted as he pulled his lips back, scanning the crowds. Who would it be?

Ah, _there._ That one. A straggler, all by herself, without the protection of a pack. Her eyes were glued to a printout, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she walked. She wore a cheerleading uniform from a school he didn't recognize. Perfect. It was like acting from a script.

She paused just a few feet from him, frowning down at her paper.

"You lost?" he said, stepping out of the shadows for maximum coolness.

"I am, actually." She barely glanced at him. "Do you know where Boreal Street is?"

He kept his grin in check. Didn't want to frighten her too soon. That would come later.

"Sure." He tilted his head toward a side street. "I can take you, if you want. You probably shouldn't be walking alone."

"That'd be great. I appreciate it."

He started walking and she followed. This was too easy. When she fell into step beside him, he cast another glance at her, noting large green eyes, smooth skin, and a steadily pumping jugular. He licked his lip.

He'd gotten her a block and a half down a quiet street before she caught on.

"You're not taking me to Boreal, are you?"

"Nope," he said, herding her until she was up against a gnarled oak tree. "Sorry."

He grinned wide, waiting for the panicked breathing to start. Instead, she rolled her eyes and stomped down on his foot with the heel of her heavy combat boot.

"AH!" he yelled, jerking from the pain. She pushed past him and he managed to get her by the wrist.

She whirled back and aimed a right hook at his head, but this time he was ready. He blocked her, then blocked her again. They whirled around each other in a fighter's dance as she kicked out again and managed to land on his gut.

"I should know better," she yelled. "The creeps always come out on Halloween."

He caught her fist in his hand and blinked at her. "Halloween?"

"Yes, genius, Halloween. Let me go. I have a party to get to."

Oh no. Oh _shit._ Had he been so stupid? He'd picked Halloween night to try and get his first bite? He was never going to hear the end of it. Walking fucking cliché.

"Damn it," he said, releasing her. "I'm an idiot."

"You're just figuring this out now?"

He went back to the tree and started banging his head against it.

"What are you... oh my god," she said.

"Go away and leave me to wither," he groaned. His brother was going to laugh for a week.

She stood next to him, arms crossed. "You're a _vampire,_ aren't you? Like, a real one?"

He stood and hissed at her, baring his fangs and trying to maintain some semblance of decorum. She arched her eyebrow and he dropped his arms.

"Yes," he said.

"Were you going to bite me?" She lifted her fingers to her mouth to hide her smile.

"I'm definitely not going to do it _now._ Leave me alone."

Against all odds, she grabbed his hand and yanked him along. It took him several seconds to gather his wits and pull away.

"The actual fuck... I am a _creature of the night._ You do not _hold a creature of the night's hand._ Where are you taking me?"

She tapped her foot. "We're going to go find my party."

He sputtered. "I am not going to a human party. I come from the noble line of Evans, stretching back generations. My family tree is written in blood and-"

"It's Halloween and you're not going to bite anybody," she interrupted. "What else are you going to do?"

He rocked from foot to foot. "Skulk in the shadows?"

"Come on," she said, beckoning, and he found himself trailing behind her.

"I'm Maka, by the way," she said, yanking him forward by the jacket sleeve so he walked beside her. "And you are?"

"Soul," he said, the word falling from his lips without his permission.

She laughed. "Interesting name for a monster that's not supposed to have one."

"My sire has a strange sense of humor. What are you supposed to be dressed as, anyway? College co-ed?"

She dug into her bag and pulled out a wooden stake. He flinched away when she twirled it.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you are."


	2. Sunshine and Sorrow

**A/N:** This is Sad Eater. Warning for minor character death.

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><p>The sun shone brightly that day, which felt like an immense cosmic joke. There should be rain. Snow. Gray, weeping, fragile sky.<p>

But no. Golden sunshine for miles.

Everything in her felt like thin ice that could break any second, and she wanted the world to reflect that. She demanded it.

One breath. Another.

Her heels were too loud on the steps of the church. Echoing, echoing. Everyone stared at her, all of them wrapped in black and judgment. Maybe she was seeing things, but it was hard to read his mother's glare as anything but filled with bitterness.

Wes would have told her she was imagining it, that his parents loved her, even if her father made a modest income and her mother was never around and she had a short temper for passive-aggressive blueblood sniping. It was a lie, but it was a pretty lie, and he'd told it to her again and again. In the light, in the dark, through a smile, through a kiss.

Two breaths. Two more.

The carpet was stupid. Red and patterned. Gaudy. Who carpeted a church this way? Everything smelled of must and incense and it was agony. She yanked her [black] coat off and hung it on a [black] hanger in the entryway. The diamond on her ring finger glinted in the pathetic light and she clenched her fist, an unexpected lightning bolt of pain searing its way through her body. She wished it would kill her.

A breath. A breath.

Lilies lined the hall, white as his hair.

She hadn't attended the viewing. It was family only, and though she was technically almost family, she knew she wasn't welcome. This was the first time she'd see him since… since…

Wes laughed in the morning light, leaning forward around his coffee mug. They were talking about nothing, about everything. She couldn't remember. But he laughed, and he kissed her goodbye. Concert in New York City later. Surprise, surprise. She rarely attended, and she knew it made him sad. What else could she do, when she couldn't make sense of the notes? They were beautiful, that she knew, but when he tried to get her to dig deeper, she came up empty. Always empty.

They were destined to crash and burn.

His chest, stained with blood behind the viewing glass. Her screams, palms beating until they went numb. The nurse's arms, dragging her away. A line on a screen, flat and still.

The queue into the main hall grew shorter and her breathing picked up. She turned her veins to steel, locked her sorrow tight. The casket came into view, all dark wood and expensive satin. Only the best for their boy.

It didn't look like him. Her heart blackened and flaked to pieces as she stared down at this wax doll pretending to be the man she loved. Cheap imitation. Silent and smooth and lifeless.

Lifeless. Lifeless.

Something on the casket caught her eye and she looked closer. Paint, red and yellow and black. A circle with a curl, a smirking smile. On the corner of a casket that had easily cost more than she made in six months, someone had etched laughter and pride.

She put her hand to her mouth and barely managed to catch her sob. The sight of her fiancé's body hadn't broken her, but this little reminder of life left unlived had done it. She ran. She couldn't do it. Couldn't stand around, all silent tears and stiff upper lip, and pretend herself fancy. This wasn't her world. It never had been. Wes had been the bridge, and he was gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Outside, the sun still spilled itself over the steps and she collapsed, her skin warming on the concrete. Tears tore themselves up from the depths of her soul, cascading over her face and dripping into her lap. How could the world keep moving without him in it?

In the depths of her despair, she registered a warm body settling down next to her. When she got herself together enough to look, her heart gave a jolt like it had seen a ghost.

He looked so much like Wes, but he wasn't Wes. Younger and wearing a pinstriped suit with a red tie that Wes never would have dared wear to an occasion as conservative as this. Their hair was the same shining white, but this young man wore his in the sort of messy spikes that implied bedhead, but were really done up on purpose. She wiped the last of her tears from her eyes and stared into his, which were red as blood to Wes' purplish-blue.

The newcomer cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if I upset you," he said. His voice was deep and dark, lacking her fiancé's natural warmth. He twisted her coat in his hands and held it out to her. She took it.

"I don't… what?" she asked.

He gestured over his shoulder. "My drawing. I did it to piss my parents off, mostly, and because Wes would have thought it was funny. But it made you cry. I'm sorry."

She blinked and something clicked in the back of her memory. "You're Soul. His brother."

"Yeah," he said with a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Family fuck-up, at your service."

Without a thought, she waved her hand, dismissing his self-admonishment. "Wes used to talk about you a lot. He missed you."

Soul's brows shifted on his forehead, unable to decide whether to form an expression of surprise or annoyance. "He always was kind of mushy about that shit, I guess."

She watched his face. He didn't look directly at her and tried to keep his expression neutral, but she could see the cracks showing through. His mouth was too tight and his eyes too shifty, like he was holding something inside he didn't want anyone to see. But she'd loved an Evans once already, and she knew how to see beyond the WASP-y buttoned-up stiffness.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, reaching out and touching the hand he rested on his knee.

Abandoning all pretense, he let his shock shine through. "What? You were going to marry him. I mean, right? You're Maka?"

She nodded, another searing line of pain cutting through her.

"Then I should be giving you condolences. We talked on holidays and birthdays. You're the one who lost something."

With a sad smile, she said, "It's okay to hurt. I know he loved you. I think you loved him, too, even though you're pretending you were practically strangers."

And suddenly, without warning, his expression crumpled the tiniest bit. His breath shuddered.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Hymns flowed out of the cracked door behind them and they turned to listen.

"We're missing it," he said.

"I can't go back," she said. "He's not in there."

They held one another's eye.

"You want to go down the road and get coffee?" he said.

"Yes," she said. "I'd like that."

One breath. Standing.

Walking toward the sun.


	3. Closet Handies

**A/N:** Silly, cracky smut. Thar be lemons herein.

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><p>She was just getting to a really good part when a she heard a click and slam right before Soul burst into her hiding place and closed the door behind him.<p>

Maka looked up from her spot on the floor of the tiny walk-in closet, penlight hanging from her mouth. He hadn't noticed her yet, which she thought was pretty unobservant, considering he was inside a closet and there was clearly a light on. His ear was pressed up against the door, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

"What are you doing?" she asked after dropping the light into her hand.

He jumped a mile and whirled on her. "Fuck!" he spat. "I didn't know you were in here."

"I'll ask again: what are you doing?"

"Hiding, obviously. Shhhh!" He leaned against the door again, listening intently. She could just make out muffled footsteps wandering the hall outside the bedroom door. There was a slow creak as someone opened it to check inside. Soul scrunched his eyes shut, then released a sigh of relief when the door closed and the footsteps receded.

He stepped over scattered shoes and sank down on the wall beside her. "What're you reading?"

"Ghost stories," she said, flipping the book closed and shining the light on the cover so he could see. "They're really good. Who are you hiding from?"

"Some underclassman who's been crawling all over me all night," he said. "I'm pretty sure her friends dared her to get a notch in her belt. She keeps going back over to them and giggling."

He stretched his legs out, which was about all he had room to do. Clothes hung on either side of them and the back wall was just wide enough for them to sit shoulder to shoulder.

"Why're you in here being a nerd?" he asked. "You like these things."

"Just needed a little time to recharge," she said, opening the book back to her place. "I was gonna go back out and make the rounds again after I finished this story."

He leaned over her to look at the etching of a woman with hollowed-out eye sockets. "Creepy."

"That's the point."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes until he nudged her with his leg.

"Can we just go home? This party sucks."

She sighed. "You think every party sucks."

"Only the ones where people I don't know expect me to talk to them."

Her book snapped shut and she was just about to lecture him on being a contributing member of society when footsteps pounded down the hall again. He covered her mouth with his hand.

It was a pair of them this time, the steps punctuated with giggles as the door opened and shut. The couple, whoever they were, spoke in low voices. They laughed and moved around each other, and there were noises that sounded suspiciously like...

"Oh no," she mumbled against Soul's hand. He shushed her.

The unmistakable sound of bedsprings squeaking made its way under the closet door.

"Oh no oh no oh no," she whispered.

"Shut up!" Soul hissed in her ear.

She tried to get up, keeping her voice low. "We have to go. We have to go now before they -"

A moan punctuated her words.

Soul covered his face with his hand. "Too late. Just... we'll just have to wait it out." He took her by the wrist and pulled her back to sitting between his legs. "Your book. Let's read your book and pretend this isn't happening."

"Who has sex at a stranger's house during a party?" she whisper-yelled.

"Okay, first, don't ever say 'sex' again, it's weird. Second, please please _please _just open the book so I can distract myself."

"Can't you just -"

"Maka, I am serious as a kishin attack right now. Open. Book. Start. Reading." He put his hands over his ears.

She settled back against him with a huff and opened the book to the beginning of the story she'd been reading, running her finger along the page so he could keep up with her. When he finished, he'd nod into her shoulder and she'd turn the page.

The moans were getting louder, the squeaks of the mattress more rhythmic. Despite her very best intentions and frustrations with her own stupid, traitorous body, Maka felt sticky heat between her legs.

"You need to move," Soul said against her ear. "Now."

"There's nowhere to move. What if I knock something over?"

He tried to scoot back, but there wasn't anywhere for him to go. She felt something stir against her lower back.

"What is..." Realization dawned on her. "_Soul._"

"I'm not doing it on purpose and I fucking warned you."

She was glad the penlight was the only source of light in the small room, because she could feel heat flooding her entire face, part outrage at his weakness and part shame at her own. Their souls were sparking against each other, registering the other's discomfort and embarrassment and arousal and ratcheting it higher.

Soul buried his face in her shoulder and muttered a constant string of "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" under his breath. "Will they just _finish,_ already."

The couple in question seemed to have every intention of taking their time, since the mattress sounds shifted to a slower pace to match their heavy breathing.

"We would get the one couple in the entire place that's not in it for a quickie," she grumbled.

"Stop saying sex stuff," he hissed. "Or I might die."

She could feel his tension and knew that he might have been exaggerating, but not by much.

"Oh for... here." She scooted forward as much as she could and twisted around, her hand going to his fly.

He made a squawking noise that thankfully aligned with a particularly ecstatic groan from the rutting couple outside. His hands reached down to stop her. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm going to help," she said. "With my hands. Do you want me to stop?"

The discarded penlight on the floor cast just enough light that she could see his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat and that his pupils were so dilated they'd nearly turned his irises black. His chest rose and fell as he took several hitched breaths.

"N-no," he whispered.

"Okay then."

She made short work of his zipper and shifted to the side as much as she could, draping over his leg while she reached inside his pants. Resolutely, she stared at the ceiling as she drew him out and started pumping. It wasn't hard to figure out, and she tried to push aside her fascination with the way he felt in her hand - hard muscle and soft skin. His breathing picked up and she risked a peek at his face to find his eyes squeezed shut and his sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip.

It only took about two minutes for him to slam one hand over his mouth to catch his cry and use his other to catch what she pulled out of him. She located her purse and dug out tissues, shoving a few at him and trying to quell the warmth that had spread over her entire body.

The couple was still going at it. She rested her forehead on her knees in frustration.

Soul had managed to clean himself up and return his breathing to normal, and now he hovered closer.

"Do you need... uh. Do you want me to... get you back?"

Another flood of stickiness washed between her legs.

"No," she squeaked. "I'm fine. I can handle it."

"I can feel how wound up you are. Let me help. You can close your eyes if it's easier."

She raised her head to look at him, the shadows in the closet doing strange things to his face. He looked calm. Maybe even... eager. The ball of tension in her lower belly was reaching the danger zone.

"Okay," she breathed, pushing him back by his chest until he was sitting again and straddling over him, lifted up on her knees. "Okay."

He searched her face, but she didn't close her eyes. So he swallowed and lifted her skirt until he could go over the front of her underwear, reaching until he was cupping her mound and his fingers found her folds. She watched his eyebrows twitch up in surprise.

"Holy shit," he said. "You're..."

"I know, just shut up and do the thing," she said.

And he did, moving his fingers and rolling the heel of his palm against her, and oh, it was nice. It was really, really nice. Almost without thinking, she rocked her hips into his hand, finding a rhythm that made the tension build up in a way that was riveting instead of frustrating.

She bit her own lip now and he went deeper, slowly slipping his middle finger inside her while he watched to make sure it was okay. He curled it forward and she let out her breath in a rush, shuddering into him.

A few minutes later, she was biting back her own cry, collapsing into his lap while he withdrew his hand.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," she agreed, her muscles weak and uncooperative. She tilted her head up and kissed him full on the mouth before lolling back on his shoulder, watching his lips quirk up in a shocked half-smile. "Thanks."

They laid like that for several seconds before they realized the noise outside the door had stopped. Maka scrambled off him and managed to grab her book just before the closet door was thrown wide. She blinked into the sudden brightness, trying to make out the backlit figure.

"It's about fucking time," Soul growled. "Most uncomfortable half-hour of my..." His words faded away as they both recognized the silhouette in front of them.

Professor Stein leaned against the doorframe and turned the bolt in his head a few cranks. "Marie was quite embarrassed when she realized we had company, so I sent her on ahead. I suggest you two follow suit."

Maka didn't think either of them had ever moved so fast.

They decided to go straight home, after all.


	4. Let's Get Wrecked

**A/N:** This is AU smut. Lemon warning!

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><p>I have been reading too much Lodestar and listening to too much honeyhoney and my hand slipped. Whoops.<p>

The shitty club smells like spilt beer and stagnant manhood. Maka curls her lip while she leans against a wooden beam, shifting from foot to foot and feeling the soles of her boots stick to the floor. It'd sure be nice if they booked a gig in a bigger city soon. These low country holes in the wall make the skin between her shoulder blades itch.

A shock of blue pushes its way through the masses and her best friend and band mate shoves a glass at her.

"Your whiskey neat, you damn princess," Black Star says before taking a swig of his own pale beer. He points at her and backs away. "We're on in five, and don't make me wait for your ass. Rock gods don't wait."

"You ain't a god yet," she calls after him.

"I been a god the whole time," he says back.

Maka holds her glass up to the light and frowns at the smudge along the rim. Ah well. Can't be too prissy in a place like this. She turns it around and shoots her whiskey down, dropping the glass on a nearby table and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It burns good. Jeers and kiss noises follow her as she weaves through the crowd, but they cut off quick after several stomped insoles and a sharp elbow to the ribs. She's got a fight in her tonight.

The stage is close to the ground, a small raised platform that'll barely contain them and their instruments once they're all in place, but it'll do. Tsubaki's got her long hair tied in a braid down her back and she tunes the banjo, warm eyes flicking to Maka with a shy smile. Star's testing the drums, though he leans forward to offer Maka a hand and yank her up.

She focuses on the mic, which is the only thing on the stage she ever gets to touch. Instruments are beyond her - the only one she knows how to use is her voice, and only then because Tsubaki writes the lyrics and arranges the pieces for her. Once, she asked Black Star why he even wanted her in the band.

"Cuz you got a runty little schoolgirl thing about you, and if dudes don't like the music, they'll at least come to look at your ass in a skirt," he'd said.

Maka suspected that might be at least partway true, but she more suspected it was cuz he didn't want Tsu's ass to be the one on display.

She checks the mic, letting her voice pop through it and watching the sound guy until he gives her the thumbs up. The crowd is restless and unimpressed, so she scans, looking for someone decent to stare at among these unwashed backwater hicks.

There, at the bar. He sits at the end and looks right through her, eyes smoldering. That's the best word she can think of to describe that gaze - red and flickering like embers. His hair's a shock of white, but he ain't older than her, at least not by much. Amid all the trucker hats and ratty tees, he sports a thin cotton button down, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his undershirt peeking out through the unbuttoned collar. When he lifts his drink to his mouth, she gets a flash of sharp teeth.

Yeah, he'll do.

Black Star starts kicking a beat on the bass drum, and that's her cue. She widens her stance and drops one shoulder, using her opposite hand to wrap around the mic in a way that's more than a little suggestive. Licking along her bottom lip, she looks right at Bar Boy and waits for the guitar to come in.

Whiskey makes her singing smoky and she watches it float through the crowd, enjoying the range of surprised looks she gets. Like always, a group hovers closer, staring up at her like she's a backlit angel.

They may still be playing dives, but they sure as hell don't suck.

On song number three, her eyes raise up to find her muse, and the way he's looking at her now makes her insides swirl real pleasant. His drink's on the bar and he's leaning forward with elbows on his knees, completely intent.

Maybe it's not a fight she's got in her tonight after all.

They finish out their set strong, the crowd hollering as they wrap. When she hops down to the floor, she's immediately cornered by several admirers, some genuinely complimentary and others hoping she compliments them in a Biblical way. She makes pleasantries and keeps her eye out, but he never comes over, so she goes to him.

He's still sitting at the corner of the bar pretending he doesn't see her approach, but she catches the flick of his eye. When she slides close next to him, he signals the bartender with a finger, still nursing his own drink.

"Whiskey neat for this lady," he says, tilting his head her way. "She put on a good show."

"Make it a shot," she calls after the bartender.

Bar Boy looks at her sidelong, raising an eyebrow.

"I ain't in the mood to sip anything." She leans against the wood, pushing up what little cleavage she's got. Not her strongest asset, but at least she knows how to work with it these days. Either way, he notices and acts like he doesn't.

"You guys got talent," he says. "What're you doin' here?"

The barkeep sets a shot glass in front of her and pours. "I dunno," she says as she runs her fingers over her drink. "What're you?"

"I come for the entertainment." He looses a sly grin at her, the dog. The pretty-faced dog.

"Hm." She laughs and takes her shot, letting it sting over her vocal chords. Her thumbnail scrapes over her lip before she flips the shot glass upside down and sets it on the bar. "Thanks for the shot."

He tilts his head back and finishes his own drink, digging his wallet out and throwing some cash down.

Before he can finish turning to her, before he can say anything else, she grabs a fistful of his shirt.

"You're comin' for the entertainment, all right," she says.

His surprise is short-lived and he follows right along as she dodges people and ignores Black Star's holler. They duck into the hall away from the brighter lights and she slams him against a wall, pressing her lips over his and finding him more than accommodating. His tongue tastes like liquor and his teeth are something else. People pass them by and they ignore every last one.

It doesn't take long for him to twine his fingers in her hair and flip them around so her back's the one to the wall. He molds himself to her, hand tracing down her side. When he gets to her hip, she obligingly lifts her thigh and he grabs it, helping her hook it around his leg. He leaves her mouth and goes to her neck while she digs her nails into the cloth over his shoulder blades, eyelids fluttering.

When he gets bold enough to palm her right tit, she nips at his ear and he jerks.

"You got protection on you?" she says, just before she licks him.

She feels him shudder down into her even as his growing problem twitches against her leg. He shakes his head. No.

"Well fuck," she says, pushing him back until she can take his hand and lead him further down the hall.

"Sorry," he pants. "Wasn't exactly expecting this."

She just smirks back at him in the barely-there light before pushing into the men's bathroom. Another dude slumped at the urinal glances over and starts when he sees them.

"Hey!" he says.

"Not interested," she replies, searching the wall until she finds what she's looking for. Without missing a beat, she pulls over her gaping makeout buddy and digs into his pocket. He hisses as she brushes against his hard-on. When she withdraws her hand, she holds a quarter.

"At least you got one of these." She smiles up at him and he gives her a half-grin back.

She pops the coin into the vending machine, twists, and grabs the little package that drops out, pulling her new puppy dog back into the hall with her. They find another wall, then the opposite wall, then the first wall again, groping and kissing any and all available skin. Finally, she locates the door she's looking for and they tumble into the back room where the club owner let them dump their instrument cases. She flips on the dim, bare lightbulb and he kicks the door shut.

He grabs her by the waist and lifts her onto a folding table, which is thankfully sturdy enough not to wobble too bad. They're kissing like they may never kiss again while she reaches under his shirt to scrape her nails along his stomach. He groans into her and digs under her skirt, finding her underwear and dragging them down over thighs, knees, ankles.

"Just so you know," he sighs. "I ain't never done this before."

"Never screwed a girl you known all of thirty minutes, or never screwed at all?"

"The first thing."

"Good," she says, yanking him down and sinking her teeth into his neck. "I ain't interested in breaking someone in. Keep up."

"Yes'm."

She runs her hand down his arm until she can press her palm to his, then brings it up for inspection. He has nice hands. Her eyes lift to meet his, and while he watches, she takes his middle finger into her mouth and sucks on it hard. His knees buckle.

"How're you with these fingers?" she asks.

One wide grin later, he's playing her like a fiddle, digits dancing over all her most sensitive places. That same middle finger, along with the first, slide into her easily and she clenches them tight, arching and mewling. He's smart with his thumb, testing her sensitivity and opting for circles around her clit instead of direct pressure.

Before long, she leans forward, cupping a hand along the bulge in his pants and practically snarling. He gets the picture, and she helps him with his belt buckle. In short order, he's free of his pants, and she has just enough time to note that all's well in dickland before he's tearing open that bar bathroom condom and rolling it on.

They press together, sliding and gasping, getting used to pressing up close. Without warning, he dips his head and places a kiss on her mouth, more tender than anything they've done so far. It sends a different sort of heat straight down her chest and into her core. Then they're all lined up proper and he pushes his length inside with such practiced ease that it's like putting on a glove when their hips meet.

He curves his body into hers and looses a growl so feral and raw that for a quarter second she thinks she's gone and picked herself a one-hump chump. Thankfully, he lifts his head and grins at her like a wolf, points of his teeth shining in the low light. He leans down and licks up her neck to her ear.

"Shit, girl, you feel real good."

She shivers and knows she picked well. Her hands go to his shoulders and his go to her hips and they're off to the races, rocking and rolling and panting and moaning.

It's fast, and it's good, and she feels the first inklings of sensitive tension pulling tight between her legs. He's climbing quick, too, and he starts calling out, his voice muffled by the steady music still playing outside.

"Oh Christ," he says. "Mary Mother of God, save me."

"Maka," she cries.

He makes a confused noise in the back of his throat and she whimpers closer to his ear. "My name. You wanna yell out for savin', you yell for me. Maka."

"Maka," he obliges. "Fuckin' hell, Maka."

Hearing her name ground out like that from this beautiful, strange, completely fuckable man makes everything go haywire. She throws her head back, howling her pleasure, and his fingers are back on her clit, shoving her all the way over the edge. A few thrusts later he follows, calling her name as he peaks and tipping into her mouth for a coital kiss.

When they've both ridden it out, she lifts one hand to cup his jaw. The kiss goes from carnal to sweet, rough to gentle. Her legs are still locked behind his thighs and she uses them to draw him closer. They pull apart, barely, and look one another in the face.

The moment stretches until she says, "You got a name?"

"Soul," he tells her. It's a strange name, but somehow fitting, she thinks.

"You play any instruments, Soul?"

He smiles, a little sadly. "Piano."

"You wanna be in a band?"


	5. Bank Heist Gone Bad

**A/N:** I got a prompt asking me to write an AU where Maka and Soul accidentally rob the same bank at the same time, and this happened.

* * *

><p>Today's the day, and Crona is freaking out.<p>

"I can't do it," they say, twining slender fingers into choppy pink hair. "I don't know how to handle this at all."

Maka places gentle hands on either side of her friend's face. "Do you want to go over the plan again? Will that make you feel better?"

Gray eyes meet green and Crona nods.

"I'm going to go inside," Maka says. "You just wait out here and don't move. When you hear the alarm, you look for me to come out right there." She points at an alleyway entrance up the road. "You coast up to meet me, I get in the car, and we leave. That's all. Okay?"

Crona's breathing calms, but their eyes still flit side to side. "It's never that easy. There's always more noise and yelling and bad, bad things. Ragnarok always made a scene."

"You're not with Ragnarok anymore, sweetheart. You're with me, and like I told you, after this, we'll be all paid up with enough left over to take us wherever we want to go." She smiles.

"You promise?"

"Pinky swear." Maka holds out her pinky and Crona reluctantly curls their own finger around hers with a shaky grin.

She glances at her watch. "It's time. Are you good?"

Crona sighs. "As long as you're with me, I think I'll be okay."

"I'll be with you." She leans in and presses a kiss to Crona's forehead before slipping out of the car.

The sun's laughing in the sky and the supplies strapped to her midsection are hot beneath the preppy vest and long-tailed coat she's got on, but it's all part of the plan. Just an unassuming young lady coming in to inquire about opening her first checking account. No one will remember her beyond a pair of pigtails and a schoolgirl skirt. Anyone who does recall her will probably describe her as fourteen to sixteen, not her actual age of twenty-three.

Thankfully, the air in the bank is dry and cool. Maka mostly keeps her eyes downcast, glancing around like she's not sure where to go. She waits in line with the others, fiddling with the deposit slips nearby, picking up a brochure about savings accounts. When a teller calls her to the window, she looks surprised and hurries forward.

"Um, hi," she says, voice too bright. "I just started over at the Deathbucks and got my first paycheck, and I need to, uh, deposit it, I guess? But I don't have an account yet."

"Sure, honey," the tall blonde teller says, popping her gum. "You need to see the man at the desk."

She looks over her shoulder and points, her face confused as she looks back to the teller. "That man?"

"Yeah, the one chronically rearranging his paperclips. He'll get you all set up."

"Thanks," Maka chirps, sticking a tiny black box under the counter before heading for her new destination.

The man in question has a look of studious concentration on his face while he moves folders from one pile to another.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kidd?" she asks after a quick glance at his nametag.

He holds up a finger. "A moment." When his two stacks are perfectly aligned, he gestures for her to take a seat before neatly folding his hands on his desk. "How may I help you today?"

Maka smiles brightly and plops down into her chair. "I'd like to open my first checking account."

She asks all the right questions and looks confused in all the right places as the banker walks her through the process, lecturing her all the while on the importance of keeping her checkbook perfectly balanced. A glance at her watch tells her it's time to make her move.

"Thank you so much, this has been so helpful," she says. "I have one more question, though."

"Yes?" Mr. Kidd says.

"My father asked me to check out your safety deposit boxes since I was coming in today. He has some valuables he'd like to deposit. Any chance I could take a peek inside?"

The banker blinks at her. "Well, you're a little young, so we can't go inside, but I can take you back and explain how the process works. There are some printouts I can send home with you, as well."

"That's perfect!" she says. "Thank you sooooo much."

Mr. Kidd stands, straightens his suit lapels, and gestures for her to follow. She does, hands behind her back and vapid smile on her face. Together they walk down the hallway past the counter and turn a corner before stopping in front of a keypad. He explains the room's security features, and she nods enthusiastically.

Another look at her watch. Five seconds.

Right on cue, the alarm starts blaring. It's not the full alarm, just a malfunction. Enough to merit attention, but not bring the authorities in.

Her escort frowns. "I'm going to ask you to stay right here," he says. "I'll be back for you just as soon as I can."

"Okay!" She watches until he turns the corner, waits a few more seconds for good measure, and allows herself a smirk as she turns to the keypad to type in one of the codes she's been skimming over the last week. Easy-peasy.

Except the code doesn't work. She frowns and tries another. Big red X's across the display. For the first time, her heart kicks into gear. Something's wrong.

And then she hears a wild yell and a single gunshot.

"No," she says. "No no no no, are you kidding me."

Moving quickly, she slides around the corner and down the hall to peek into the entryway and her vision goes white-hot because there's an aggressively stupid masked bag of dicks standing on the table and waving a gun in the air. He has a friend standing on the floor near his feet, looking around furtively from the slit in his facemask.

"Heads up, peasants," says the idiot. "You've been graced by the presence of Star and Eater, and we demand offerings. Make with the cash money."

The second thief smashes a fist down into the first's foot, but he barely flinches.

Maka grits her teeth to keep her roar of frustration inside. This is why the codes didn't work - the silent alarm's been triggered in addition to her distraction. These complete jackasses must've decided to make a move when they heard the bell. The little black box she planted earlier to trigger the first alarm should give her a few minutes of scrambled signal before the cops are notified, but either way, her timeline is screwed. She sends a silent prayer to whichever gods are listening that Crona's keeping it together.

The slim muscled fool with the gun nods to his companion. "Go on and get back there, man. We ain't got all day."

When the guy moves, Maka takes the opportunity to duck and roll behind the nearest desk and wait until he comes close enough to reach.

In one quick motion, she sweeps her leg and knocks the masked asshat down on his back before straddling him and pressing her taser to his ribs. For a few seconds, he struggles and tries to throw her off, but she pushes the prongs in harder and he stills, red eyes staring up at her through his ridiculous, predictable balaclava.

"Feel that?" she whispers. "That's 50,000 volts ready to arc across your chest. Don't even think about moving."

The other robber's voice is surprisingly rich as he growls at her. "You're not gonna fucking taze me while you're sitting on top of me. It'll get you, too."

"Go back to school and try again," she answers. "Darts send it straight into you. I'll be just fine, and if you pull anything, I'll sterilize you." To make her point, she shifts the taser down his torso until she hits the band of his jeans.

"Fine, fine, _fine,_ Christ almighty, stop," he hisses. "You part of the plainclothes Girl Scout department or some shit?"

"No, I'm part of the 'I've been casing this place for a damn month and you are screwing up all my hard work, you asshole,' division."

He laughs. "No fucking shit, you're the ringleader in charge of that overanxious kid in the car around the corner?"

Well, that's a surprise. He'd made Crona. Either he's better than she assumed, or Crona's completely losing their head. Either way, not good.

Her scarlet-eyed adversary gestures with one hand. "Look, Thighs Of Steel, how about we deal, huh? We'll let you in on the cut if you let us use your getaway driver."

Maka's about to tell him exactly where he can shove his "deal" when a manic shout echoes through the hall from the jerk with the gun. "Eater, the hell's taking you so long? I'm gettin' twitchy, man."

Even though she can't see his face, she can tell the man underneath her scowls by the way his face moves under his mask. "You're not gonna want him to find out you have me pinned. Trust me."

She grumbles and checks her watch. They only have a few minutes.

"What are you going for?" she asks. He just blinks at her, so she clarifies. "Vault or deposit boxes?"

"Boxes," he answers.

"Then here's what we're going to do." She leans down and whispers in the general vicinity of his ear.

Thirty seconds later, he's standing and her own taser is pressed to her throat.

"What the fuck, dude?" the thief called Star yells.

"Needed a hostage," he calls back. "Nobody do anything stupid or the little girl gets a seriously scrambled brain."

Her tears are practiced and convincing. "Please don't hurt me!"

While his friend waves the gun around to keep the masses in place, her unplanned partner in crime drags her back into the hallway. Once they're out of sight, she whirls on him and smacks him in the head, hard.

"Ow, the hell?" he says. She hits him again.

"That's for ruining my flawless plan, you inept assface. Move."

Together they round the corner and she's reaching underneath her shirt to tear her toolkit from her belly. She catches him glancing at her bare skin, and when he notices her noticing him, he clears his throat and shoulders off the backpack he has looped over one shoulder.

"I got this," he says as he pulls out a laptop and plugs it into the keypad. While he opens it and waits for it to come to life, he pushes his mask up over his face and she gets a good look at him. Shaggy white hair sticks out near his temples and at his forehead, and his red eyes are narrowed in concentration.

She glances at the screen and sees a red and black weapon slash across, two words sprawled beneath it. With a scoff, she stares daggers at the young man she'd think was handsome in any other context.

"Death Scythe?" she says. "We don't have time for video games."

The scythe fades from the screen and numbers roll across faster than she can read them.

"This isn't a video game," he says. "It's the next generation in security hackware. Wrote it myself. Quit being a harpy and let me do my thing."

She crosses her arms, feeling anxious and squashing the panicked bubbles in her gut. This is not how it was supposed to be. Surprises are never welcome.

"Nice touch with the costume contact lenses, by the way," she says to fill the silence and calm her nerves.

"Contacts?" he says distractedly. "Don't wear 'em."

She drops her arms and boggles. "That's your natural eye color? Are you made of stupidity? This place is packed with witnesses. Is this your first freaking job?"

His eyes shift away from her and his mouth twists down.

"Oh my god, it's your first job. That's phenomenal. Were you bored?"

He mumbles something. She thinks she catches the word "brother."

"Speak up."

"I said my brother is sick." His eyes flash angrily at her. "Our parents don't know and he wants to keep it that way."

Maka slaps her hand to her forehead, incredulous. "You absolute rank amateur. You never, ever do this with an emotional stake, not ever." She conveniently forgets to mention that her own emotional stake of getting herself and Crona the hell out of dodge is the exception to the rule.

It's at that moment that the door to the safety deposit boxes cracks open. Without another word, she shoves her way inside and makes a beeline directly for a row of three boxes that she knows contain cash and gold - unmarked and easy to exchange. Her companion looks out of his element, spinning around the room with his laptop in one hand.

With an exasperated sigh, she points to another box. "That one. Do that one."

He follows her finger while she pulls out her toolkit and expertly opens her series of boxes in less than a minute with a combination of skeleton keys and skill. It pleases her that he's still struggling with his, but she takes pity on him and pops it open in an instant. Between them they empty the cash and easily pawned goods into their bags.

"Go get your friend and meet me at the end of the hall," she says. She should let them hang themselves, but he'd helped her, and not returning the favor would eat at her. He moves to leave and she yanks his jacket. "Put your mask back on."

"Right," he says, pulling it down over his face.

A few stray gunshots later, her two new accomplices are running down the hall toward her. She ignores the annoyed warbling of the first thief and leads the way to a janitor's closet and through an air vent. That takes them to the next floor, and the stairs there take them to the roof. After an argument and a series of shouted threats, the lot of them jump to the next roof over and clamor down the fire escape as sirens sound down the street.

Their feet hit the broken pavement of the alleyway and she whips off both of their masks, shoving them down the fronts of their respective pants while they squawk at her. She makes a frustrated half-howl to the buildings above as she realizes that she's with the two most easily identifiable jackasses she's ever seen.

When pounding footsteps start coming their way, she shoves the blue-haired menace calling himself "Star" behind a dumpster along with the bags.

No time to think. She grabs Eater and pulls him flush to her against the dirty bricks, lifting a leg to wrap around him, which he instinctively supports as she yanks his face down to hers. Maka barely has time to register his lips before someone pauses at the entrance of the alley. They continue to press into each other like they've been making out for an hour until the guy yells at them.

"You kids get out of here," the cop says.

They break apart and Maka gasps. "Omigosh please don't tell my mom."

The cop does a double take before pointing at Eater. "That girl better be eighteen, buddy." Then he's gone, more pressing matters at hand.

Her kissing partner breathes heavily and takes a reluctant step back before meeting her eyes. "You _are_ older than eighteen, right?"

Star shoves his way out of the garbage with a bag on either arm. "Can we get the fuck gone, or what?"

Maka peeks her head out of the alley, hoping against hope that Crona didn't panic. Relief washes over her as she spots the car and waves. Just like they'd always planned, the car coasts up toward them. Blue and red lights flash at the street corner while they cross the street and load inside.

"I didn't leave, even when the noise started," Crona says, blinking rapidly and white-knuckling the wheel. "Did I do okay?"

"You did great," Maka says, wrapping her friend in a hug.

Crona turns to the backseat to look at the newcomers. "Who are you?"

"More trouble than they're worth," Maka says. "Just drive, sweetie."

The sirens fade as Crona makes their way down the street, not too fast, not too slow. Maka doesn't allow herself to relax until they're several miles away. She strips off her coat and vest, replacing them with a t-shirt before she unties her hair and shakes it out over her shoulders. Every once in a while, she glances in the rearview and sees a pair of red eyes looking back. No one speaks. They'll figure everything out once they're at a safe house.

She picks at her lip, which still tastes like chapstick that isn't hers. The next time she looks in the mirror, he's smirking.


	6. Unexpected

**A/N:** So this happened. You'll be able to figure out pretty quickly what's going on here.

* * *

><p>It isn't supposed to be like this.<p>

Her hands shake and she tries to figure out how this happened, how she got here. This isn't right. They've always been so, so careful. True, synthetic hormones made her too sick, so they'd had to rely on good old barrier methods, but they'd been meticulous about it.

Except for one night a few weeks back when they'd both been a little drunk and a lot less careful than usual but it would be fine because there was technically only a 20% chance on any given cycle even if all factors lined up perfectly, so the risk was negligible, really, and he had been so so so hot in those skinny jeans and even hotter out of them.

Apparently the odds were in their favor. Maybe they should head to Vegas and take up gambling.

She stares at the pair of pink lines and her heart pounds in her ears.

It's not like they're kids anymore, and it's not like they've never thought about it or talked about it. But it's always in the abstract, always a maybe-someday fuzzy future vision for down the road. She'd always assumed it would be planned right down to a big red circle on the calendar that said "conception here," if anything. They'd have plenty of time to mentally and emotionally prepare, they'd be done risking their lives every other week, they'd have a fucking dog or something.

There's a clatter outside the bathroom door and she jumps a mile. He can't be home yet. He's not supposed to be home yet. The room tilts a little.

A lilting, feminine voice sneaks through the wood. "My little Maka, come play! Blair is bored."

She releases her held breath and feels her body shudder forward. Ever since they left their first apartment and moved into the townhouse, the cat continues to make herself welcome, though not as frequently as before. They don't know where she goes when she's not around, but she always comes back.

"Maka?" Blair says, words laced with concern this time.

"I can't play today," she whispers.

There's a soft whoosh of magic and the door handle turns, a yellowish eye peeking inside as it swings open. "Can Blair help?"

Maka's laugh is watery. "Not unless you know a time travel spell."

"Can't change the past, sugarkitten." The now-woman creeps inside and shuts the door behind her. She taps her lip with a finger as she regards the scythemeister seated on the edge of the bathtub. "Whassa matter?"

In answer, Maka holds out the test. Blair takes and inspects it with manicured claws.

She expects the cat to squee, to jump up and down and make a fuss. She cringes in anticipation of it, but it doesn't come. Instead, Blair sets the test down on the counter and goes to her knees next to her friend and former roommate.

"Are you happy about this?" she asks.

"I don't know," Maka replies.

"Are you sad?"

"I don't know."

"Scared?"

"Yes."

"That's okay."

Maka pries her gaze from the dusty blue bathmat to look into Blair's pretty, feline face. The cat's smiling, but not in her usual happy-go-lucky mischievous way. Delicately, she raises her nails to brush a loose strand of Maka's hair behind her ear.

"Come on," Blair says. "Let's have some hot milk."

Absentmindedly, Maka allows herself to be pulled to standing. She picks up the test as they leave the bathroom and lets Blair sit her down on the couch before the older woman bustles off to the kitchen and begins banging around, presumably in search of mugs.

"Second cupboard on the right," Maka calls as she glances at the test one more time before setting it on the coffee table next to the book she's currently reading.

After a not-insignificant amount of commotion and chanted spells, Blair returns with two steaming mugs. Maka samples hers as Blair curls up beside her on the couch. The milk is sweet and calming in her mouth.

"When did you know?" Blair asks.

Maka swallows her drink. "For sure? Ten minutes ago. But about a week ago, I started having to pee all the time, like _all the time,_ and I thought maybe I was getting an infection or something. I've been exhausted for the last few days. I kept telling myself it was the flu, but I never get the flu. Then I checked my calendar, and... well." She tightens her fingers on her mug and sucks in a shaky breath.

"It was one time, Blair," she whimpers, tears leaking out. "One stupid time."

The cat-woman takes both of their mugs and sets them on the table before pulling Maka in close to her huge, pillowy chest, and for once Maka doesn't mind at all. Claws stroke her hair as she shivers and lets the tears come.

"Not stupid," Blair purrs. "Never stupid."

When she's cried herself out, Maka hiccups and sits straight, wiping the tracks off her face. They're quiet for several minutes.

"Have you ever been through anything like this?" Maka asks, glancing over.

Blair rests her face on the back of the couch. "Nya. Two times."

A hand squeezes Maka's heart. "You have kittens?"

"Mm-hm," the cat says. "But it's different for Blair, yes? Kittens grow fast and don't call home. Still, the first time, Blair was very young and very scared, but she had help. It was okay." She pats Maka's leg. "You are not so young anymore, and your tom won't ever leave."

Maka breathes in deep. "I still don't know if we're ready. We don't even know if we really want this yet."

"Blair can't tell you that, sugarkitten. Ah," she says, perking up her ears and raising her head. "Someone's home." Her woman's body disappears in a wisp of black smoke and she reappears in her cat form, curling up next to Maka's leg.

Sure enough, she hears the jingle of keys followed by the door opening and slamming on the floor below. Her fists clench on her thighs, fingers twisting in the hem of her skirt. She's calmer than she was an hour ago, but the reality of telling him hits her like a roundhouse kick to the jaw. Blair purrs beside her in support.

"You here?" Soul calls.

"Upstairs," she answers. She feels out of breath.

He takes his time trudging up the stairs, stretching his arms to the ceiling and yawning as he reaches the next level. Maka's eyes linger on the strip of bare skin where his shirt rides up. He's wearing the same skinny jeans that got her into this mess in the first place and she can't help but release a little laugh as she turns her attention to petting Blair's exposed belly.

"Long day?" she asks.

"Just a bunch of boring-ass meetings about covens and territory lines or whatever, I stopped paying attention." She listens to him empty his pockets into the wooden bowl on the breakfast bar. "Oh. The cat's here."

"The cat was just leaving, nya," Blair says as she gets up and stretches, looking up at Maka. "Unless you'd like her to stay?"

If she knows Soul, and she does, he's about to say something rude, so Maka gets there first. "Thanks for stopping by, Blair. I'm good."

With a wink, the petite black cat hops her way over to the open window and disappears into the fading daylight. Maka takes a deep breath and looks at her partner.

Soul's eyes are droopy and tired, but his brow furrows as soon as they make eye contact. He knows her as well as she knows him.

"What's wrong?" he says. "You feeling okay?"

She beckons him over with a jerk of her head. "Come here."

He does, sinking down beside her on the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They kiss _hello_, and _how are you_, and _I'm here_.

"This is hard," she says, tucking herself beneath his chin. His grumbles reverberate in her skull.

"Gonna start tickling you if you don't tell me what's up," he says.

The words just aren't there. Not in any order she wants to say them, anyway. So she reaches for the test on the table and presses it into his hand, watching and waiting for his reaction. He stares at it blankly.

"What does this mean?" he looks at her, genuine confusion on his face, and she looks back at the test to see the dye has bled and blurred into nothing. It's been too long.

She sucks on her bottom lip and dredges the words up from deep inside.

"It means I'm pregnant."

There they are, hanging in the air. She said them aloud and now they're real.

He's still a master of the carefully neutral expression, but she watches the side of his neck twitch as his pulse quickens, the only outward indication that he might be feeling some of her "oh my fucking shit" sentiment. She knows he's keeping it in check because he doesn't want to upset her, and that makes her insides melt.

"Wha, uh. I." He puts the test down. "Is... I mean, are you sure?"

"Those things are 99% accurate, and I've been having symptoms, so yeah, pretty sure."

Soul scrubs his hands over his face and hair. "Shit. Okay. Shit. When did we...?"

She takes his hand and he squeezes hers back, hard. "The party at Patty's place a few weeks back." He arches an eyebrow, not remembering. "Bathroom sink."

His laugh is short and explosive, and he claps his free hand over his mouth too late to catch it. A drip of sweat trickles down his temple and she can tell he's gripping her hand this tightly so she can't feel him shaking.

"Shoulda pulled out, I guess," he finally says. He swallows thickly. "Can you just... I'll be right back, okay?"

She nods and he moves fast, ducking into the hall. The bathroom door clicks softly shut and she listens to the barely muffled cacophony of him puking his guts out. Tears prickle at her eyes and she blinks them away. She's watched Soul show his lazy smile to death a thousand times without a hint of fear, but this isn't death. This is life. When he comes back, he looks calmer and smells like mouthwash.

He sits back down and she leans against his shoulder. "I think I'm the one who's supposed to do that."

Soul gathers her into a tight hug and presses his lips to her hair. "Sorry. I'm kind of freaking out."

"I noticed."

They're quiet for a while until he says, "What do you want to do?"

Something opens up in her, and possibilities that had been flitting around the outskirts of her mind like shadows all day start coming into focus. The paths diverge a number of different ways, and each one is unknown.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Not my call."

She pulls back and looks up at him. "I'm not saying I'll agree with you, I just want to know what you think. Your opinion matters. This isn't just about me, and if..." she trails off.

His thumb brushes against her cheek. "It is about you. _You_ come first. Always."

The smile she gives him is radiant with love. "Good answer. Doesn't answer my question, though."

He sighs and rubs at the back of his neck, thinking. She waits. His brain tends to roll things over for a while, and he's had very little time to process so far.

At last, he says, "I think that we're stable enough. We're both salaried, and we've been saving. We have a spare room. I think I'm scared as hell because I don't want to fuck this up, but maybe that means I won't fuck it up. I think we could do this." A pause. "If you wanted."

They breathe, and linger, and wonder.

Then she says, "I think I do want."

Only then, after they've let their words sink in, does he break his eyes away from hers to glance down her torso. Only then does he spread his palm, warm and solid, over her lower belly.


	7. The Veruca Drink

**A/N:** Hello and welcome to the smutty companion piece featuring the incident that lead to Unexpected (last chapter). This is one big lemon, pretty much.

* * *

><p>Soul has this invisible scale when it comes to alcohol. In the space of a single drink, he goes from neutral and relaxed to giggly and grabby. It never takes the same amount of drinks, and the factors always change depending on the day, how much food he's had, how tired he is, or whatever else. All Maka knows is one minute, he's his usual smirking, droopy-eyed self, and the next minute, he's tittering like a schoolgirl. Privately, she refers to it as the "Veruca Drink," because suddenly he wants things and he wants them nooooooow.<p>

And if the hand creeping up the back of her skirt and sloppy smile against her ear are any indication, he's had the Veruca Drink.

"I know, and I'm really glad you're around, because the cultural exchange is so imPORtant-" she pauses in her conversation with Kim to swat away the hand that just pinched her ass.

"Hi pretty lady." Soul's breath is humid in her ear. "You're so pretty do you want to make out."

Kim's lips quirk. It looks like she's trying not to laugh as she takes a sip of her own drink. Whatever it is, it's pinker than her hair. She makes a pitiful attempt at extricating herself from the conversation and goes off to find Kilik.

Soul's hand is under Maka's skirt again.

"Can you not do that when I'm trying to talk politics with our friends?" she says.

He nips at her neck. "Don't be so pretty and we'll talk."

"You're drunk," she accuses.

"YoU'rE dRuNk," he mimics, giggling into her skin.

It's true, she's a teensy bit drunk (what did Patty put in that punch?), but that's entirely beside the point. She takes both of his wrists in her hands and holds him at bay in front of her, which he seems to accept as some sort of challenge to try and plant a kiss on her with no hands.

"Soul-" She dodges right. "Will you-" Dodges left. "Cut it out-" Right again. "This is so-" Ducks. "Embarrassing."

At that moment, someone sneaks up from behind and tickles her ribs, which causes her to yelp and release Soul, who immediately crashes into her and starts administering slobbery kisses all over the side of her face.

"Traitor," she snarls at Black Star's retreating figure.

"Just helping my bro out cuz he needs regular minor miracles where you're concerned," Star says with a point and a wink over his shoulder.

Soul's herding her back into the nearest wall so he can shuffle her along to a slightly more discreet hallway. She resists, barely. He's moved his kissing and suckling to her neck, which he knows is her weakness, the shark-toothed bastard. Soon the party noises fade and they're making out heavily against the wall, her hands in his back pockets (these outrageous skinny jeans will be the death of her, she swears) and his hands unhooking her bra under her top. He tastes like tequila and lime.

"Did the boys talk you into taking shots again?" she gasps next time her mouth is free.

"It was an itty-bitty shot," he says as he wriggles his hips in an attempt to gain purchase between her thighs. "Like a micro-shot. Little baby shot."

"How many baby shots did you take?"

"Three, I think."

She's about to smack him one when he finally pries her legs apart and grinds up between them. His hand's back inside her shirt and under her bra and squeezing. Distantly, she hopes that their friends know them well enough to give this hallway a wide berth, because they are being the definition of gross. Gross and liable to combust. Hopefully Patty got that fire insurance.

"Weren't we supposed to grow out of this insatiable horniness after our teens?" she gasps.

"Only thing I want to grow out of is these pants," he wheezes, laughing at his own bad joke as he presses the aforementioned growth against her inner thigh.

She yanks on his hair. "Gods you're so drunk."

"YoU'rE dRuNk."

They trade kisses back and forth as they stumble down the hall until they find the bathroom and lock themselves inside. His jacket's on the floor along with her shoes and underwear, her legs dangling over the edge of the sink counter while they fuse together at the lips and his fingers slide against the slick folds at the crux of her thighs.

"Godsdamn you're primed," he says, licking along her mouth. "Almost like you wore my favorite skirt on purpose."

"Stop sounding so pleased with yourself," she pants, shuddering against him. "We are so being those assholes at the party right now."

"There's another bathroom." He pushes two fingers inside her and she moans at Patty's giraffe-patterned ceiling. "They'll deal."

When she gathers enough of her wits to speak again, she says, "Get your blade out and sheathe it right now or so help me..."

His effervescent giggles are back and dancing against her neck like champagne bubbles. "I love it when you talk weapon to me," he says as he reaches into his back pocket for his slim wallet. She leans against him and swirls her tongue up his neck to suck on his earlobe while he digs through the leather for the condom he always keeps there.

"What's taking so long?" she growls.

"Uh," he says, and she pulls back to see him still poking around through every possible hiding place. "Oh, come on."

She takes the wallet from him and repeats his motions, shaking out the billfold and feeling the thin lining for that telltale circle. Nothing.

They both whine like kids being denied their very favorite toy and stare each other in the face.

"Maybe Patty has some in here?" Maka says, barely daring to hope.

The next minute or so is a frantic search through cupboards, medicine cabinets, and even the shower, because it's Patty and who the hell knows with Patty. While Soul digs around under the sink, he pops back up periodically to give her a lick between the legs, which she simultaneously loves and loathes, because there are _no fucking condoms in this bathroom_ and it has officially become a_ serious problem._

At last he stands, admitting defeat and putting his palms flat on the counter on either side of her hips. Their eyes are still heated and glazed, their breathing still heavy. They should finish with hands and mouths. They know they should. But it's not what they _want._

Maybe they both had the Veruca Drink tonight.

Something passes between them, as it always does.

"Fuck it," they say together.

Her hands fly to the button of his jeans, tearing them open and peeling everything down past his hips and ass while he pushes her skirt up until it bunches. His erection springs free and he groans in relief. Then she scoots forward as far as she can and reaches down so she can line him up, and just like that he thrusts and is completely inside.

The ecstasy of finally being full and doing the filling catches them both in its web for a hard second and they stiffen. Then everything melts to liquid and they're pumping into each other slow and languid, bones bendy with alcohol and lust.

"Uhn gods," Soul says, face full of bliss. "You feel unbe-fucking-lievable."

Maka wants to agree, but she can't quite recall how language works at the moment. Her arms are wrapped up underneath his, her nails clawing against the material of his shirt for leverage. They've never had sex without a condom before and something about it sends a heady thrill through her that she can't describe. She can barely imagine what it must be like for him, except she can, because their souls are whispering to each other and she senses his feelings of being overwhelmed with sensation and heat and muscle and awesome. It sends her thrill that much higher.

Her hands drag down his back to his ass and she guides him to grind into her harder, his hipbone solid under her clit and sending static bursts through her brain. Soul's movements start to lengthen, his grunts getting breathier, and she knows what's happening.

"Mmmmmaka," he groans. "You're too hot. I'm right there. I've gotta..."

He moves to pull out, to take the pleasure away from her, and she locks her ankles around his legs, holding him in place with her athletic thighs.

"Don't you fucking dare," she says, looking him full in the face, and he understands.

"I'm gonna come," he warns one more time.

"Me too," she answers.

That settled, they grind together a handful more times before they both ignite and burst one after the other. She scrambles up his body, temporarily lifting her own off the countertop before he tilts forward and leans heavily against her. Everything is hotter, and wetter, and slicker. His mouth is on her shoulder, hers on his neck.

He squeezes her hip. "We didn't use anything," he says, ever Captain Obvious.

"It's okay," she manages. "We'll be fine."

They'd be fine.


	8. I Read Sometimes

**A/N:** This was loosely inspired by Professor Maka's "Practice" one-shot and the Tumblr crowd liked it, so. This is one part cute fluff, one part lemon! Which means some sexual content. You've been forewarned.

And yes, the books mentioned herein are actual, real books that really exist. If you were curious.

* * *

><p>Maka would have stayed another hour for additional meister training, but Sid practically booted her out.<p>

"I don't let my meisters practice injured," he said. "That's not the kind of man I was."

She had huffed. "Come on, it's just a sore shoulder."

"It's a _dislocated_ shoulder," the zombie said, arms crossed and face unmoving.

"Not anymore," she argued.

He pointed a bluish finger at the door. "Go home, Albarn. Come back next week."

So here she is, climbing the steps to her and Soul's apartment and grumbling to herself about the infernal undead. She tries the door, finds it unlocked, and pushes her way inside with a grunt.

Soul practically levitates off the couch, looking up at her with wide eyes, his thumb frozen where it plucks at his lip. That's her first hint that something's off. When he looks anything but sleepy or bored to death, there's mischief afoot.

"Whatthehellareyoudoinghome," he says, the words tumbling together as they rush to escape his mouth.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "Sid kicked me out of practice."

It's then that she spots the thing that's wrong with this picture.

"Are you... reading a book?" she asks. "For fun?"

"No," he lies, shoving the paperback down between the couch cushions. His expression is akin to the one he wears when he knows he's fucked up and he knows she's about to find out he's fucked up. Nervous. Apprehensive. Searching for escape.

That settles it.

"What's the book?" she says, approaching the couch.

"There's no book."

She stands in front of him, hands on hips, and he shifts slightly so he's sitting over the crack in the cushions. He folds his arms and glowers up at her, but the effect is somewhat spoiled by his eye twitch.

"What's the book, Soul?"

When he doesn't answer, she makes her move, crawling over him and tickling the weak spot just above his hip in an attempt to get him to jerk away. He yelps and struggles with her, trying to shove her off, buck her off, whatever he can manage. They grapple and tangle until he ends up on his back with her on top of him. She hisses when he bumps her hurt shoulder and he growls at her but avoids knocking it again.

"What is it?" she says, digging at his ribs.

"It's none of your business!" he roars.

"Why are you being so shifty?"

"Cut it out!"

"I think it's good that you're expressing literary interests."

"MAKA."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed ab- HA!"

She manages to reach underneath him and grasp the spine of the book, whipping it out. There's barely enough time for her to register the halved papaya on the cover before he snatches it away from her, holding it at arm's length, which is annoying because his arms are a lot longer than they used to be and now he's holding the back of her shirt with his other hand so she can't reach far enough.

"Is it a cookbook?" she says, grasping with her fingers.

He's making panicky noises in the back of his throat and finally decides to go for broke and roll them both off the couch. He lands on top of her and she's winded, so he takes the opportunity to scramble away. If he's hoping she'll give up, his reaction is having the exact opposite effect. Now she _must_ know what this book is about.

Soul makes a break for his room, but she's already there, blocking his path and giving him her hunter's smile. He gulps, because he knows he's prey and she's about to go for the kill.

One high speed chase around the apartment later and they're rolling around on the floor near the window. Looks like she's getting a workout in, after all. She twists her hips and pins him with a leg on either side of his chest, triumphantly hugging the book against her stomach.

"I really don't get what the big deal is," she pants as she looks down at it again.

Before she can read the title, he grabs it and hurls it out the open window, watching it as it goes. They both listen to the distant sound of a garbage can lid clattering and a cat yowling.

"Well that was uncalled for," she says, breathing heavily as she glances at him. Her smile falters when she sees the look on his face.

His chest rises and falls beneath her, his expression more open than he usually allows. She doesn't recognize the emotion there, the dilated pupils and slight flush. It's only there for an instant, and then his face darkens and turns to familiar annoyance as he shoves her off of him.

"Couldn't just leave it alone," he says.

For the first time, she realizes that maybe _she's_ the one who just fucked up. He stands.

"Sorry," she says. "I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't think," he says with a glare. "I don't have to tell you everything."

His shields are going up. Maka can practically hear them clanging into place.

"You're right," she says. "I didn't realize it was... I'm sorry."

"Whatever," he grumbles, rubbing his fingers through his hair as he walks away. "Call me when dinner's ready."

Seconds later, his bedroom door slams and she winces. Then she groans and leans her face into her palms. So stupid. Her partner is so private. He was clearly reading something personal, and she'd taken it as a challenge instead of letting him have his space. What a jerk move.

In an attempt at apology, she's searching their takeout drawer for the menu to his favorite Thai place when the rattle of the doorknob indicates their other roommate is home.

"Hey Blair," she says to the buxom catwoman. "Do you know where the menu for _Lemongrass_ is?"

"No, sorry," Blair sing-songs. "But I did bring you a present!"

"Really?" Maka comes out of the kitchen, curious.

"Nya, see, a book!" Blair holds out a slightly stained paperback. "The kitties who live in the alley say someone threw it at them, tsk. Blair knows how much you like books, so she offered to take it off their paws."

A lump rises in Maka's throat as she takes the book and recognizes the papaya on the cover. She shouldn't look. _She shouldn't look._ She's already been enough of a dick tonight.

But it's a book and it's _Soul's_ book and she can't help it.

"_She Comes First,_" she reads. That's a weird title. Is this a... self-help book?

Then she reads the subtitle: _The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman._

She drops the book like it's made of bees. Gaping, flabbergasted, confused bees. Bees who definitely should not have read the title of the stupid thing. Oh gods, that halved papaya is _staring_ at her from the floor and now the context of it has _completely changed._

"You don't like it?" Blair says with a pout.

"It's fine," she says, stooping to pick it up and feeling like a creep as she does. "It's great. I have to go ask Soul what he wants to order for dinner. Fish for you?"

"Yes yes yes," Blair says, clapping her hands.

"Super."

Maka beats a hasty exit for the hallway. There's nothing but air in her head. It feels like it's going to float away, which might not be a bad thing because _what._ She can't stop herself from flipping the dog-eared book over to read the back cover and catches the words "best guide to oral sex" before she presses a fist to her mouth to make sure the weird noises trying to force their way out stay inside.

Without warning, she starts to feel the tiniest bit sick. If Soul's reading a book about _this,_ it must mean that he's thinking about doing _this._ With who? A sea of girls' faces swim before her eyes, a veritable tidal wave of names written in cursive with a swirl on letters in his locker. Girls who aren't her.

She takes a deep breath and clenches her eyes shut. That's not fair. He's her partner, not her boyfriend. There's a difference. She wasn't even supposed to know about this, but now she can't pretend she doesn't know, unexpectedly painful as it is. There's nothing for it. He's already mad, anyway, so she might as well rip this one off like a band-aid.

With a sigh, she trudges down the hall and knocks on his door.

"I know dinner's not ready yet," he calls.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

There's a grunt, which she knows is his way of agreeing without really agreeing so he doesn't have to admit he gave in. She pushes her way inside and finds him sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and one headphone over his ear. One of his legs is bent at the knee and a little bowed out, and the combination of him laying like that and the book in her hand makes her chest burn. It makes other things burn, too, but she doesn't want to think about that right now.

"We're getting takeout, aren't we?" he asks, cracking an eye open.

"Yeah." She looks away from his face and rubs her arm. "You want your usual from the Thai place?"

"That's why it's called a usual," he drawls.

Setting her mouth in a line, she moves closer and tosses the book at him. "Blair found this and brought it up."

He catches it and she risks a glance at him in time to see the sides of his face close to his jaw go splotchy red. Neither of them speaks or meets the other's eye.

Maka stares at the ceiling. "I'll go order." Before she closes the door, she turns back and adds, "Whoever she is, she's lucky that you care enough to, you know. Research."

As she walks away from his room, she hears him groaning and swearing at himself.

Blair tilts her head to the side as Maka trudges back out again while rubbing the space between her eyes, which aches all of a sudden.

"What does Soul want to eat?" the cat asks.

Maka snorts at the unintended implication. "His usual. I just want some tom yum soup, I think. Would you mind ordering and picking up? I'm sorry, my head hurts."

"No problem," Blair says. "You want a potion?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks."

While the cat whips out her cellphone and looks up the restaurant's number, Maka closes her bedroom door behind her and faceplants on her own bed, twisting her fingers into the sheets. Why does she feel this sudden overheated desire to cry and touch herself at the same time? It's weird and she really, really doesn't like it. A few minutes later, she hears the front door close as Blair leaves. A minute after that, there's a quiet knock at her door.

"Can I come in?" Soul says, his voice soft and mumbling.

She uses his own signature grunt on him and doesn't move as her door slides open across the plush purple rug on her floor. It clicks shut behind him and she turns her head to look. He's staring at something on her desk and the red splotches are still peppering his jaw.

"About the... thing," he says.

"Look, I don't really want to know details, okay?" she says. "Like you said before, it's none of my business, and I'm sorry I looked. It was private."

"Yes, it was private." He shoots her a glare. "But you did look, and it's done now, so I wanted to make something clear. There's... not a girl, okay?"

Maka sits straight up. "Then why are you reading about, you know, that?"

He wheezes out a laugh. "I don't know, because I think it's probably good knowledge to have? I'd think you could relate to that."

"I guess," she shrugs. "So there's not a particular girl, then?"

There it is again - that slight openness on his face, the widening of his pupils. The reddish tip of his tongue peeks through his parted lips before he looks away.

"Not really," he says. He steels himself for a moment before he adds, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she answers automatically even as she thinks _please don't let it be a request for advice._

He scratches the hair at his temple and shuffles closer. "Does it sound like something you'd like?" The second the words are out of his mouth, he bites his tongue and scrunches up his face.

Maka's pretty sure her eyebrows have disappeared into her hairline. "Are you asking me if I think I'd enjoy oral sex?"

"Never mind, pretend I didn't ask. Stupid." She's not sure if he's calling her stupid or calling himself stupid.

He turns to leave and she says warningly, "Soul."

His back stiffens and he turns back to her, cheeks tinged barely-there pink. "Yes, okay, yes. I'm asking if the idea of a guy going down on you is remotely appealing."

For a while, all she can really do is gasp like an fish out of water because the words _going down on you_ coming out of Soul's mouth are doing truly unkind things to her psyche. He's starting to leave again when she finally squeaks out a "yes."

"Yeah?" The look of surprise on his face is one for the record books and he swallows. "Because, I mean, I've been reading up. If you're interested."

The openness is back and the air in her room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter. Neither of them breaks their gaze this time.

Finally, she whispers, "Okay."

Then he's scrambling for her bed like he thinks she'll take it back if he doesn't move fast enough, and his hands are shaking on her shoulders as he gently pushes her toward her pillows, his face inches from hers. Did she fall asleep? Is this one of those dreams she has sometimes? What's happening?

"Just lie back," he says, and his voice sounds like it's coming through restricted air space, like his windpipe is tightening around his vocal chords.

A light clicks on somewhere in her head and with stunning clarity she recognizes the look in his eye. Without another thought, she leans her head forward and their mouths collide. He makes a "huh" sound and then he's responding, his mouth pushing back against hers, hands tightening on her shoulders.

They break and blink at each other in stupefied silence until she says, "I thought maybe we should start there."

"The book might have said something about that," he breathes. Then he presses another kiss to her mouth, soft and exploratory. He brushes their noses together and says, "Lie back, okay?"

She does, reclining against her pillows while he shifts and maneuvers himself down the bed, his hand pushing her shirt up her torso and leaving a warm trail everywhere it touches. Hesitantly, he watches her face and leans down to kiss her belly. She sucks her breath in, not used to such gentle touches there. Then he's at her navel, then below her navel, then she feels the wet heat of his tongue on her hipbone.

Her knees are starting to wobble. He notices and looks up.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"No," she says. "Not even a little bit."

It takes him a bit to find the zipper on her skirt, but he does and carefully pulls it down and away. His fingers hesitate against the elastic of her underwear. At least they're black, she thinks, even if they're black cotton.

"Do _you_ want to stop?" she asks, voice embarrassingly breathy.

"Not even a little bit," he says, showing her a half grin as her underwear follow the path her skirt forged. She can feel air on her exposed skin and her lungs heave, trying to force in more oxygen. Everything's going a little fuzzy. Everything but Soul.

Soul, who is now positioned between her knees.

"Here goes," he says. "You can grade me later."

His head goes down and hers rolls back, and then there's a warm wet flick and her body sparks like mad. She watches the slender fingers of his hands wrap around her thighs, his messy mop of white hair moving at her most private place, and overwhelming arousal courses through her because wow, it's hot. It's very hot.

There's another flick and her voice escapes her. He's teasing, testing. She can't predict when the next will come, and it makes the thrill of anticipation sing in her veins. And then, out of nowhere, the heat increases exponentially because his entire tongue is resting against as much of her as it can reach, which is a considerable lot, it turns out. He doesn't move it, just lets it sit, warming her and building the tension.

Then he draws it up and finishes with a swirl around her clit and her thighs give an involuntary shake and she decides she's writing the author of that book a giant thank you letter. Automatically, she reaches down to grasp his hair in her twining fingers and he makes unbearably sexy noises against her heated skin.

His techniques vary, which makes every minute a surprise. Sometimes there are circles, sometimes there are taps, sometimes he's low, sometimes he's high. Every now and again he laps at her opening, which is an entirely different sensation. Once he's reduced her to a panting, mewling mess, he focuses on her swollen, aching clit and she can feel her tension starting to reach its crescendo.

"Soul," she gasps out, and she feels him stutter and slow in his movements for a split second before he resumes with vigor, his rhythm steady. "Soul, I'm... I think I'm... oh gods, don't stop, please don't stop!"

Her weapon, her partner, is always one to mind her when it counts. The coil in her grows white-hot, tightening and mounting and peaking. She wants to tell him she's coming, to call out her rapture, but her mouth is the vacuum of space and there's no sound. Then everything is shivering and she plunges down and through, bursting out the other side.

It seems to catch him by surprise and he makes a muffled noise that sounds like "ohshit" against her down there, working his mouth with the roll of her hips, and finally she can manage to moan out her pleasure as the pulses stretch out and lessen.

While she sits there breathing and trying to put her brain back together, he taps on her leg. "You have to let me go," he laughs against the crease of her thigh, sending another shiver through her.

"Right, sorry," she says, forcing her legs apart from either side of his head and loosening her fingers from his hair.

When he's free, he doesn't move so much as shift higher so he can rest his chin against her stomach, eyes downcast and a slight, pleased smile quirking his mouth. He flicks his eyes up to meet hers.

"How'd I do?" he asks.

"You retained your knowledge very well," she says, lolling back into her pillows. "That was... something else."

"Something good?" he prods.

"Something great," she answers.

His hand slides up over her bare hip to rest against her side, the pads of his fingers putting bits of pressure there. The smile softens as he looks up at her.

"I might have lied a little," he says. "About there not being a girl."

Maka's heart leaps, because surely he can't mean... was she a guinea pig? But no, that can't be right. Not if she goes by the way he's looking at her.

Unfortunately the front door slams and Soul jerks and rolls off of her and directly onto the floor, his head popping up as he shakes it out.

"My skirt," Maka squeaks, and he finds it and her underwear and shoves them at her. She manages to get them on just as Blair calls out that dinner's served.

They shuffle out of her room like nothing ever happened and sit to eat their meal. Blair titters on about this and that and they give her noncommittal answers. Every now and again, Maka watches Soul eat, her face heating at the memory of where that mouth has been. He catches her looking, once, and gives her a barely-there smile.

They maintain their unspoken agreement not to discuss the incident for several days. At least until the day Maka gets home, checks for Blair, and then marches straight back to his room to kick the door open.

"What-" he jumps and turns in his desk chair, looking at her with furrowed brows as he pulls off his headphones.

She stomps over and drops a book on his desk. After he's sure she isn't going to kick _him_ as well, he glances down at it and registers a half-peeled banana along with the title _He Comes Next._

He has only seconds to wear his crooked grin before she's kissing it away from him.


	9. It's 3AM and I'm Hangry

**A/N:** This came from a prompt request for an AU where someone's baking cookies at 3AM and the other party is really angry about it but also really hungry. Enjoy, it's as fluffy as you'd expect.

* * *

><p>Someone was banging around in the kitchen downstairs and it was<em> pissing her off.<em>

Maka gritted her teeth and smashed her pillow harder over her ears. It didn't help. Whoever was down there was making an obliviously royal racket and they were going to die.

She cracked her eye open and stared at the clock. A giant blue 3:04 glared back at her.

They were going to die a lot.

Why had she torn that damned strip off that damned "ROOMMATES WANTED" poster? Oh, right, because the apartment had sounded too good to pass up. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, open loft floor plan, easy access to campus, and three tidy people who needed two additional roommates to make rent? Match made in paradise. Or so she'd thought.

To be fair, the three original tenants were likable enough, most of the time. The skinny raven-haired pretty boy was the one who kept everything clean, really, and he was unobtrusive and polite, if a little eccentric. The two sisters who shared a room talked a lot and were prone to shouting matches, but they were sweet and friendly. They were still waiting on a fifth, but no takers yet. All told, it seemed to be a pretty stellar living situation.

Until tonight, anyway. She'd heard too many roommate horror stories… somebody always turned out to be a bad egg. She just wished she didn't have to figure that out at 3AM on the _freaking morning of her Poli Sci exam._

So much dying loomed in this person's future.

She got up and only just managed to keep from stamping out of respect for her still-sleeping roommates as she grabbed her robe and yanked open the door. She fumed down the stairs and marched into the kitchen, mouth open and finger at the ready for an epic scolding, and then she stopped dead because there was a strange boy in the kitchen.

Strange as in he was a stranger, and strange as in he was _strange._ Shockingly white hair stood in messy tufts all over his head and he stared back at her with big red eyes. An oversized cookie hung halfway out of his mouth, his pointed teeth sunk into its center.

Her tirade faded in her throat and switched out for a confused and frightened "wha?" instead.

He didn't move except to flick his eyes down to her chest and then determinedly up and away. Automatically, she glanced down and realized her tank top was very thin and the room was very chilly. With a squeak, she pulled her robe tight around her and grabbed the nearest frying pan off the stove. Thankfully, her roommate Kid had left one on each burner, so she had ample replacement ammunition.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in here?" she said.

The boy bit into his cookie and tossed the uneaten half onto the counter before showing her his hands and chewing frantically. When he could speak, he said, "Sorry, sorry! I take it Liz didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" She brandished the frying pan and he cringed back.

"She gave me my key earlier and told me I could crash tonight before I move my stuff in tomorrow. I'm your new roommate. Jesus, they didn't tell me you were a hyperviolent crankmonster."

Maka narrowed her eyes. "New roommate."

"Yes," he said, emphasis on the ssss. "I'm Soul. I'm guessing you're Maka."

Her arm dropped and the frying pan hit her in the thigh as she sighed at the ceiling. "New roommate who knocks around the kitchen at three in the morning. Liz forgot to mention. That's great."

"Oh shit, is it three already?" he said, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "Whoops."

"Whoops?" She pointed the pan at him again and he edged away. "Your first point of business when you move in is to wake up your very tired, very-has-a-test-tomorrow roommate, and your response is _whoops?_"

Soul shrugged, hands still in the air in front of him. "Mea culpa?"

She snorted at that. "What are you even doing?"

"Oh, uh." He pointed at the counter, where a sheet full of cookies sat cooling. "It helps me clear my head when I can't sleep."

Maka scanned the counter. Sure enough, ingredients and dirty dishes were scattered everywhere. She put the pan back on the stovetop and crossed her arms. "Kid's going to rearrange your closet for a week if you don't clean all this up, you know."

"I was getting there."

"And another thing." Her scolding finger was back. "This is a communal area, and it is right under my room, and you should probably think of that next time you want to-" She was interrupted by a loud gurgle from her stomach.

Soul's mouth twisted up into a half-smirk, his eyebrows arching in a way that screamed arrogance in an annoyingly attractive way. "Do you want a cookie?"

"No, I want to sleep."

Her stomach betrayed her with another growl.

He laughed. "Come on, have one. You're obviously hangry."

"Excuse me?"

"You get angry when you're hungry. You're hangry. Take a cookie. They're my old au pair's recipe and she knew her way around a baked good."

That elicited an eyeroll from her. "Your au pair? Who are you, Richie Rich? No wonder you're already crashing around like you own the place."

"Hey now," he frowned at her. "I'm not… you know what? We don't know each other, and you're clearly a crabby gremlin after midnight, but I'm offering to feed you anyway. So why don't you chill the fuck out and take the olive branch?"

She scowled at him and he scowled back. It was tempting to keep going until he cracked under her gaze, but she really was tired and hungry. So she stalked over and grabbed a cookie, taking a ferocious bite and chewing with as much disdain as she could muster.

"This is really good," she mumbled after she swallowed.

Apparently satisfied that she wasn't ready to bash his head in anymore, he leaned against the counter next to her and picked up the other half of his discarded cookie.

"Told you," he said as he took his own bite. When he finished, he held out his hand."Nice to meet you, Maka. I promise I'll keep my baking quieter after lights out from now on."

She accepted his hand. "You better."


	10. Take On Me

Welcome to a college!AU that spawned from a "SoMa first kiss" prompt and turned into a monster. Also, go listen to the acoustic "Take On Me" cover by Where's Ollie? on YT or something. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>AUGUST<p>

They met during the first big freshman event of the year while his roommate hit on hers with the tireless stamina of a young god.

The pair stood awkwardly next to each other in the middle of a wandering swarm of students who kept trying to hand them Greek Rush Week flyers and glow sticks. She leaned toward him and said, "I think our roommates may be into each other. What do you think?"

He glanced at her, then back at his blue-haired suitemate, who was currently flexing impressively for a tall, laughing beauty with a kind smile.

"I think you're probably right," he said, giving the girl beside him a half-hearted grin of his own as he tugged his cap further down over his white hair.

"I'm Maka," she said, green eyes bright and friendly as she held out her hand. "I'm pretty sure I live two doors down from you in the Sampson dorms."

He accepted her hand. Her skin was warm, her grip firm.

"I'm Soul."

SEPTEMBER

Black Star made regular appearances at Maka's door. One time he showed up clad only in a towel.

"Tsubaki's not here," she said, face averted and hand blocking his lower half from her line of sight.

"Bummer." He twisted a pinky finger in his ear and glanced around the girls' common room. "What was your name again?"

She restrained herself from grumbling. Barely. "Still Maka. Same as the last three times you asked."

He snapped his fingers. "That's right, yeah. One of my roommates keeps calling you Maybe-Mara-Can't-Remember, that's why I never get it right. Anyway. Wanna play Mario Kart?"

"Play what now?" She raised her eyebrows at him, modesty forgotten.

"_Mario Kart,_ lady-dude. Other-other roommate brought it from home. If you're game, you should come over. We need a fourth." With that, he stuck his finger in his ear again and wandered off down the way.

Maka almost shut the door and went back to her book, but competitiveness and the desire to make some new friends pushed her out into the late afternoon sun. The boys' room wasn't hard to find - the door was swung wide and curses spilled onto the open-air deck that stretched the length of the building. She leaned against the doorframe and watched Black Star, who had thankfully changed into shorts, and his two roommates turn the final curve of their last lap.

"How are you rigging this game?" the tow-headed boy named Soul yelled. "That's your third win in a row."

Black Star stood with his arms stretched out above him in victory and took a bow. "We're unfairly matched, mortals, so I wouldn't feel too bad."

"I'm pretty sure I used to be good at this," said the third boy, slumping his slender shoulders and glancing over through a fringe of black bangs. He saw Maka standing in the doorway and blinked at her. "Oh, we have a guest."

Soul's head whipped around and she saw the hint of a smile flit across his mouth. "Oh, hey. Didn't we meet at the...?"

"Big Night, yeah," she answered, then gestured at Black Star. "He invited me over. Something about needing a fourth?"

"Come on in," the shirtless kinesiology major said as he nudged Soul over with a foot. "You can take the couch. I can still kick ass from the floor."

She plopped down next to Soul, who was still pulling his beanie down over his hair. Their main room was clean enough, though it still had that unique hint of college boy to it - Old Spice and unwashed clothes. Three walls displayed posters, and if she had to guess, she'd pin the kung fu films to Black Star, the slick modern art to the black-haired pretty boy, and the bands to Soul. Just a hunch.

"Don't believe we've met," said the unnamed boy, holding out a hand. "You can call me Kid."

They shook and she asked, "Kid?"

He shrugged. "You'd go by a nickname too if your dad named you what mine did."

"Don't bother asking, he won't tell," Soul said as he queued up the next race, eyes on the television.

"Wasn't going to." She accepted the controller Kid handed over. "Am going to kick your asses, though."

Black Star cackled. "A challenger appears!"

She settled in and leaned forward, her leg resting against Soul's. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him looking at her.

Neither of them moved away.

OCTOBER

"Wait up!"

Soul paused on the path and turned around, adjusting the messenger bag strap across his chest. Maka did an odd half-jog to catch up to him and he felt the corner of his mouth tick up. She puffed a little as she reached him and pointed at his shirt while she caught her breath.

"Who's that?"

He gaped at her. "Are you serious?"

"Yes?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't know who Kurt Cobain is? Member of the 27 Club?"

"Should I?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "Remind me to make you a playlist sometime, because you're clearly in desperate need of musical education. Did you need something?"

She laughed. "Oh, I just saw you walking this way and I have a class nearby. Figured we could walk together."

"Oh, yeah." He was smiling again and tugged on his hat. "I'm on my way to Jazz Theory. Where are you headed?"

"Biology 101." She fell into step beside him, keeping up with his long strides easily enough. "Why do you always do that?"

He looked over at her as they passed beneath a maple tree. The leaves were going yellow and red. "Do what?" he asked.

"Yank your hat down over your hair." Her breath made a tiny cloud between them in the crisp morning air.

"Because people stare." He kicked a rock and watched it clatter over the path ahead. "They always have."

"Well that's because people tend to suck as a general rule. I wouldn't let it get to you. I bet you have nice hair."

"Do you now?" he laughed.

"I've only seen this bit -" She reached up and tugged on the pale tufts sticking out at the nape of his neck. "- but it's a nice bit."

He rubbed the place where his scalp still tingled and they walked in silence for a while until they reached the sciences building and she peeled off. As he watched her go, he noted that the sway of her twin braids matched the sway of her hips.

"Hey," he called, surprised at his own boldness even as she turned to look back at him. "I'm off at eleven. You want to meet at the caf for lunch?"

"Sure," she said. "I'll see you there."

NOVEMBER

Campus was practically deserted over Thanksgiving break, which was just as well, because it meant there weren't any RAs to come pester them about staying too late in each others' dorm rooms. Most didn't care, but one pompous asshat named Ox was a serious stickler for the technical "no members of the opposite sex in single-sex rooms after 10PM" rule. Maka suspected his particular streak of nasty had something to do with the epic crush he was harboring on the other RA, Kim, and she voiced as much.

"Why doesn't he just ask her out already?" Soul slouched in the monstrously uncomfortable campus-provided chair in Maka's common room and sipped on microwave-heated instant hot chocolate.

"Might have something to do with the fact that she has a girlfriend," Maka laughed as she sifted through her cards.

He tilted his head. "Ah. Yeah, I guess that would be an issue. Come on, sloth-ass, make your play."

Maka stuck her tongue out at him. "Cards Against Humanity just isn't the same when you only have two players. I'm trying to make them worth your while."

"Could be worse, I guess." He snatched up the remote control and turned up the random 80's flick they had on for background noise. "I could be eating dry turkey and listening to my mom go on and on about my brother's holiday concert schedule." He pitched his voice higher and batted his eyelashes. "Oh Wes, honey, make sure you cut 'Here We Come A-Wassailing,' it's _so_ overdone this year."

Maka picked out a card, then changed her mind and put it back. "At least your parents are still married. I'd probably have to deal with the Lay Of The Season back at my dad's place. They always hug me and then I smell like pop star perfume and sadness. It's terrible."

"I'll take stale cheese fries with you any day," he said, taking one from the styrofoam container on the table between them. He held it out and waited for her to take one and toast him with it.

She wrinkled her nose as she chewed. "These are gross when they're cold."

"They're gross when they're fresh. PLAY YOUR FUCKING CARDS."

"All right, don't get your boxers in a twist." She smirked and put down two cards. "You asked for it."

He leaned over and looked at the cards. "Due to recent scientific breakthrough, scientists have deduced that 'the clitoris' is not actually 'a Bop It.'" There was a long pause and then he looked up at her with his eyebrows knit together. "So you don't twist it and pull it?"

She laughed and threw a French fry at him. He threw it back with a grin.

Behind them, John Cusack said something about how he gave a girl his heart and she gave him a pen.

DECEMBER

It was two in the morning and they'd somehow managed to avoid Ox's wrath. Maybe he was letting up for the holidays. They sat on the long twin bed in the single room attached to the common room Soul shared with Kid and Black Star, who slept soundly in the double next door. Maka picked at Soul's old guitar and tried to learn a chord or two.

He hid a yawn behind his hand before moving her fingers along the frets.

"No, that's G. _This_ is A."

"I don't know the difference," she said, exasperated. She shoved the instrument at him. "Just play me something so my fingers don't hurt anymore."

He chuckled tiredly. "These are nylon strings. You want hurty fingers, try metal strings."

She put her elbow on her knee and propped her chin on her hand. With a sigh, he turned the guitar around and stuck his pick between his teeth so he could fingerpick the strings and started with the opening notes of "Tears In Heaven."

"You're a showoff and you suck," she said. Then she sat up straight and stretched her arms above her head. "I'd better get back to my room."

Soul scratched underneath his beanie. "You could just stay here."

"I only live two doors down, it's not like it's a long walk," she said. "And you only have this one tiny-ass bed. I'm not sleeping on the couch. Kid wakes up at 6AM."

He gestured at the beat-up old Goodwill recliner squished into the corner of his room. "I'll sleep in my chair. It's comfortable."

Maka looked longingly at his pillow, then back at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go for it." He got up and leaned his guitar against his dresser, then pulled off his knit hat. He fluffed his matted down hair and she smiled up at him.

"The mythical hair makes a rare appearance," she said as she crawled under his covers. "It's cute."

"Whatever," he said, but he gave her a smirk before going off to the shared bathroom to brush his teeth. By the time he got back, she was fast asleep.

He turned off his red and black lamp and flumped into his chair, popping the footrest and leaning back. Through half-lidded eyes, he looked at her in his bed, a strip of winter moonlight casting her face in silver and marble. Her lips were just barely parted, her face smooth and free of the wrinkle that appeared between her brows when she thought too much, which was always.

As he drifted off, he felt an overwhelming desire to crawl in beside her, to kiss her and hold her and move with her in the dark. It pulsed beneath his skin like a fever. His lips tingled with want and he bit down.

"Shit," he whispered to the space between them.

He'd known this was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. They were friends. He didn't have a lot of friends.

So he wasn't going to fuck it up.

JANUARY

Winter break absolutely sucked. He'd only been home for two weeks and he already desperately wanted to return to campus with its bad coffee and boring theory classes and overloud, overanxious roommates. And its Makas. He could do with at least three of those.

Practically on cue, a GChat notification dinged behind his music and he rose out of his stupor to switch to his email tab. A bubble of totally cheesy, totally welcome happiness bloomed in his chest when he saw that "Maka Albarn" was telling him she was, quote, "BOOOOOOOORED."

"I know how that goes," he typed.

"Do a Hangout with me?" she typed back. "Skype's not working. Again."

Even though he knew his parents were out at a function, he still peered around at the vast, immaculate, empty Tuscan-style kitchen to make sure no one was around before he accepted her invite. In seconds, her face filled his laptop screen and he couldn't help but grin at her like a dumbass as he plugged in his earbuds.

"Hey," he said. "Miss me?"

"Only constantly," she responded. "You're not wearing a hat!"

He reached up automatically to flatten the messy cowlick that always stuck up on the side. "Oh, yeah. My dad won't let me wear them in the house. Rude or something." He made a jerk-off motion with his hand.

"At least your parents aren't having 4AM sex with randos right next to your room," she said, shooting a look sharp enough to kill a rhino at something off-screen. Soul heard a distant gasp and several stammered apologies while Maka rolled her eyes and used her left hand as a blinder.

He winced audibly. "You win, hands down."

After Maka held up a finger and went to slam her bedroom door, they talked about what they'd received for the holidays, which friends and family members they'd been forced to interact with, what they did with their days... everything. Soul was laughing at her impression of her Great Uncle Reaper when a hand clapped down on his shoulder and startled him half to death.

"Little brother, that looks like a girl," Wes said as he dipped down to get a better look at Maka. He waved. "Hello, girl-in-the-box."

"Fuck, I didn't hear you come in," Soul said, trying to calm his pounding heart.

"Language, darling," Wes intoned in a perfect impression of their mother. "Mom and Dad were about fifteen minutes behind me, fair warning."

"Are you Wes?" Maka said in Soul's ears. She realized the older Evans couldn't hear her and repeated, "Is that Wes? Let me say hi!"

With a scowl, he unplugged his headphones so her voice filled the room and prayed Wes would be cool.

"Hi, Wes!" Maka waved.

"Bless her, Box Girl knows my name. Hello! And you are?"

She laughed. "I'm Maka. I live down the hall from Soul at school. He talks about you all the time, by the way."

"Does he, now?" Wes shot Soul a grin, which he didn't return. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked away.

"Yep," Maka said. "How was your holiday tour?"

"Exhausting and exhilarating, so wonderful of you to ask. You're sweet. She's sweet, Soul."

Soul shrugged. "You haven't seen her in the morning before she's had breakfast."

His older brother's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "And you have? Are you two...?"

Then Soul's hand was on the side of Wes' face, shoving him out of frame. "Bye, bro. I'm sure you're tired from the schmoozing." He turned back to the screen and gave Maka what he hoped was a suitably apologetic smile. "Sorry, I have to go. My parents will be home soon."

"Oh, okay," she said with a sigh. "Call me later this week?"

"Will do."

"I'll talk to you in a while, then. Bye, Wes!"

"Very nice to meet you," Wes called back from where he leaned against the counter with a glass of red wine from their always-available stock.

Soul signed off and closed his laptop screen before turning on the barstool to glare at his brother. Wes took a sip of wine and tilted his head with a smirk that wasn't all that unlike Soul's.

"She's cute. How long have you wanted to have her babies?"

"It's not like that," Soul said.

Wes pointed at him with a pinky while managing to hold on to the stem of his glass. "You're full of copious amounts of shit, kid. I haven't seen you laughing like that in years."

"Language, darling," Soul mocked. "I'm gonna go shower."

As he slid off the stool and walked away, Wes yelled "Do we need to have The Talk again?" after him and Soul gave him the finger. "Articulate as ever, I see."

Soul squirreled himself away in the bedroom he'd grown up in, which felt far too big after a semester of dorm living. He dropped his laptop on the bed and shucked off his clothes as he walked to his en suite, leaving them strewn all over the floor. It didn't have quite the same taste of freedom to it as it did at school - his mom would nag him to pick them up before the housekeeper came on Wednesday, right after his dad nagged him about squeezing in extra lessons with his old piano instructor. Wouldn't they both be pissed when they found out his emphasis was Jazz, not Classical.

He cranked the hot water high and let steam fill the room, fogging away his reflection in the mirror. The humidity brought out the smell of those weird guest soaps his mom always used in the bathrooms and he remembered being young and angry that he got ousted every year when important relatives needed a nicer room to stay in. The guest rooms were hardly squalor, but Wes never had to give up his room. He was almost ten years older, but still.

The water pressure here was better than at school, at least, and Soul sighed as it pulsed into his back. He didn't want to think about family or childhood or being home, so he thought of Maka. Two and half more weeks until he got to see her again. It felt like a lifetime, so he filled the tiny space with her laugh and her eyes and her smile. Before he knew it, his mind wandered places he hadn't exactly told it to go, but he wasn't exactly opposed, either.

He made it about halfway through his shower before the fantasy won out over his lapsed Protestant upbringing and he slid a hand down between his legs to do something about it.

Not like he was going to do anything else about it, after all.

FEBRUARY

The little bookstore smelled like sandalwood and was packed to the highest shelves with poets in thrift store sweaters and overlarge glasses. Maka ran her fingers along the spines of the books on the used shelf, wishing she had more splurge money to blow on the copy of _Stranger in a Strange Land_ with the classic 1970's cover. Nearby, Black Star continued to openly flirt with Tsubaki, who he was now dating, and Kid sat on one of the only available chairs and studied his psych class notes so intently that Maka was a teensy bit worried he'd hurt himself. She considered herself a hardcore studier and she still had nothing on him.

Someone stepped up to the mic on the tiny corner stage and tapped it, testing.

"Hey everyone, welcome to Open Mic Night," said the skinny kid with the choppy pinkish hair. "I'm beyond nervous up here... don't do well with crowds... so how about we just have our first performer come on up. Is there a S-Soul in the house?"

Maka perked up and went to join the others. They all whooped while Soul stepped up with his guitar and sat on the provided stool. He scanned the crowd and found her, his mouth quirking in a nervous grin while he made sure everything was in tune.

He leaned into the mic after a minute and said, "I, uh, haven't done this in a long time. Well, I've never done _this,_ exactly, but it's been a while since I've been on a stage. I'm imagining all of you naked, just so you know."

A smattering of laughter rippled through the crowd. Maka hid her grin behind her hand and felt her cheeks warm. Soul gave her the ghost of a wink.

"I'm just gonna start," he said. His fingers went to the strings and he started strumming out a melody. Then he started singing, sweet and soft. It took a minute, but eventually the people in the crowd began to laugh appreciatively as they recognized the song - "Take On Me" by A-Ha, rendered in acoustic.

Maka's cheeks warmed even more, mostly because she'd actually recognized the song immediately. The original was one of the few songs she knew by heart and loved unabashedly. Soul gave her crap about it all the time.

"You're all the things I've got to remember," Soul sang, glancing up and meeting her eyes for the shortest second before looking back at his guitar. "You're shying away, I'll be coming for you anyway."

There, next to her friends and surrounded by books and coffee and music, she tried to catch her breath.

"Shit," she whispered.

MARCH

"You can't come over here to force me to study and then yank my head around like that," Soul grumbled.

"Shut up, you like it," she said around the rubber bands hanging out of her mouth.

He did like it, but he didn't want to admit it. Over the past month, she'd finally convinced him to ditch the hat sometimes and actually venture out in public with his hair visible. People did stare, but it passed quickly. Most of them knew _him_ now, so he wasn't just the weird kid with the pigmentation issue. Of course, the real bonus was the fact that when his hair was fluffy and washed and uncovered, Maka would play with it, and that was nice.

This time, she sat above him on the bed and ran her fingers through his shag, separating it into sections she could braid. It was stupid and he'd take them out immediately, but for now she was touching him, and the feel of her nails against his scalp was soothing. Didn't hurt that her calves were draped over his shoulders.

It did make focusing on his statistics workbook difficult, though. Mainly because his mutinous brain kept imagining him rotated 180 degrees. Book on lap. Book. On. Lap.

"You thought any more about where you're going to live next year?" he asked.

It was still pretty early, but the RAs were already reminding them they should consider putting in for their preferred on-campus (or off-campus, if they wanted) housing as soon as possible. Some of the newer dorms even had kitchens.

He heard her swallow behind him. "Not sure," she said. "Have to talk to Tsu."

"Right, yeah," he said. "We have time."

There was a long pause before she answered. "True. Lots of time."

Birds chirped outside his window and with a sudden jolt, he realized he'd said "we."

APRIL

Maka and Tsubaki whirled on the dance floor, laughing under the spinning lights along with several other girls Soul didn't know very well. He leaned against the table they'd staked out near the bar. Black Star was the only one who'd bothered with a fake ID. The rest of them were there for the 18+ dance night.

Well. Maka was there for the 18+ dance night, and Soul was there for Maka. Every time a random guy came up behind her and started making grinding motions, she'd scowl over her shoulder and the girls would do this intricate huddle and move away in unison. It made him chuckle.

Kid dug anti-bacterial wipes out of his pocket and started washing down the table, wrinkling his nose as he did.

"This place is disgusting," he yelled over the music.

"Not gonna argue," Soul said.

Finally satisfied enough to lean gingerly on the table's surface, Kid huffed. "Why are we here, again?"

Black Star grabbed their roommate around the neck and whooped, clinking his glass in front of Kid's face. "Because they make a mean cocktail, bro."

"It's neon blue," Kid said. "What the hell is in that?"

"Dunno, but it's awesome." The jock threw up the horns and waggled his blue stained tongue before bouncing over to the dance floor to take his girlfriend for a spin. Tsubaki managed to get his glass away from him and safely placed on a nearby table before he whirled her around and dipped her.

Soul tried to hold a conversation with Kid, but it wasn't going very well. They couldn't hear each other. Then two little arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he stiffened.

"Come dance," Maka laughed in his ear. He heard that just fine.

When he turned to look at her, she was flushed and giggling.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm great," she yelled. "Black Star gave me some of his blue thing. It tastes like a Jolly Rancher."

"Ah," Soul said.

She took his hand and pulled. "Dance with me."

He very nearly went. The sequins on her halter top winked at him, and her hair curled at her shoulders. Tsubaki or someone must've let her borrow some lip stuff, because her mouth was slick and shiny, and suddenly the bar was way too hot.

"I'm gonna get some air, I think," he said.

He took his hand back and thought he caught something in her face before he moved away. Disappointment, maybe. Confusion.

"You could come, too?" he offered, half-hoping.

She shook her head. "No. I'm going to go back out."

As Soul watched her turn on her heel and return to the floor, something in his chest deflated like it'd been punctured. It was a terrible feeling. He didn't like it at all, but he didn't know what to do about it. So he went outside.

The early spring air smelled like rain and felt cool on his skin. A few minutes later, someone punched his arm and he looked around.

"You gotta do something, bro," Black Star said, swaying where he stood. "Soon. Whatever you got, it ain't gonna last the summer unless you make it solid."

Soul turned away. "I think you've had enough."

"Yeah," Black Star said. "Probably."

MAY

After her last final, Maka started packing up her room. Little things, like decorations and books she didn't need anymore. The weirdest feeling kept washing over her, like this was the end of something. She'd never live in this tiny room again. Tsubaki would be her roommate next year, but they'd never make up new stories about the patched-over hole in the wall of their common room, or sit on that particular threadbare couch.

The boys would never be next door again.

Her chest had been tight all day long, full of something that felt nauseatingly close to sorrow. It was completely ridiculous. They'd be back next year, up to the same shenanigans, going to the same classes.

So why did it feel like everything teetered on the edge of an abyss?

More than anything else, she dreaded the thought of going three whole months without Soul. They could talk and text, but it wasn't the same at all. Winter break had been awful, and now she had to deal with three times that?

She slammed her copy of _Beowulf_ down harder than she meant to.

Screw this. She'd pack later. She was going to spend every last waking second with her friends before she was shuffled off back to her dad's place.

The deck was awash with sunlight, and she stopped to chat with the girls in the room between her dorm and Soul's. Then Kim caught her, then a history major she'd met at a party. At last, she made it to the boys' suite and made a beeline for Soul's room.

Except he wasn't there.

She walked down the hall past the shared common room to Black Star and Kid's room. Unsurprisingly, Kid was already completely packed except for the bare necessities, and he lounged on his bed with his earbuds in, speaking Japanese under his breath while he studied his textbook. Black Star's side of the room remained a natural disaster, and he seemed perfectly content doing crunches in the middle of it.

"Hey guys," she said. "You both coming out to the group dinner tonight?"

Kid gave her a thumbs up without looking away from his book and Black Star sat up and looked at her. He'd barely broken a sweat, which meant he'd probably only done a few hundred crunches instead of a few thousand.

"You know we are," Star said, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Right, yeah, well. I just wanted to check." She leaned against the doorframe and bit her cheek before adding, "Any idea when Soul will be back?"

Black Star rolled his eyes. "Shoulda fucking known."

His response threw her and she stammered for a few seconds before getting out, "Known what?"

"You're always looking for Soul, Soul's always looking for you. Would you two just bang it out already? You've only got, like, forty-eight hours."

Maka's brain made a dull buzzing noise. "Excuse me?"

Black Star rolled back and pushed himself off the floor, bouncing and swinging his arms. "Look, Maka, I like you. You're cool, most of the time, and your my babe's bestie, so I'm going to give it to you straight. Either let Soul into the promised land or cut him loose. You can't keep stringing him out. It's not good for a dude in his prime to be hung up."

Kid flicked his eyes up to regard them both before staring intently at the next page of his book.

She clenched her fists to hide their shaking. "I'm not _stringing him out._ We're friends. We're all friends."

"Oh no," Star wagged a finger at her. "You're not friends with him like you're friends with us. Don't even play."

"I don't know what you-"

Star released a frustrated groan and waved his hands on either side of his head in a _how are you not getting this_ gesture. "The dude wants to do the freaking Roaring Dragon with you, lady. And I think you want him to."

She snorted. "The fuck is that?"

Kid loosed an exasperated sigh and yanked his earbuds out. "A sex position, as far as I've been able to tell. He hasn't shut up about it."

Her laugh was high and tinny in her ears. "Hasn't shut up about the position, or about me doing it with Soul?"

"Either, honestly," Kid said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Black Star was on a roll now. "He wants to boink you so bad that I wouldn't be surprised if his entire lower half is blue. For the love of all that is good in the world, put him out of his misery. One way or another."

"This is ridiculous," she snapped. "Kid, tell him he's being ridiculous."

Kid huffed and tossed his book away, glaring at her. "He's being crass about it, but he's not wrong about Soul having feelings for you."

A stone dropped in her stomach. "What?"

"He hasn't said as much, but it's pretty obvious. I've never had a crush on anyone in my life and I can still tell you've both got it bad for each other. So please, go let him know. I have a final in an hour."

She had no idea what to say. All she knew was that A-Ha kept playing on repeat in her head.

Not too much later, Soul opened the door to his room and was in the process of dropping his bag onto the floor when he was abruptly shoved into the nearest wall.

"What the-" he said, flailing to regain his balance. "Maka?"

She stomped over and kicked his door closed with enough force to reverberate through the entire room. Then she whirled on him, and she looked pissed.

"Something wrong?" he asked, holding out a hand. He didn't know what it was for. To placate her, maybe, or hold her off if she rushed him again.

Her fists clenched against her thighs as she paced back and forth, jaw set and eyes full of emerald fire.

Soul was at a loss. "Did you fail a final or something? Seriously, what the fuck?"

"Two days," she yelled, spinning to face him. Her hair stood out around her face like it feared touching her as much as he did in that moment.

"I'm not in your brain. I don't know what that means," he said, trying to keep his voice calm while simultaneously flipping through his internal database and trying to figure out what the fuck he'd done wrong.

"Two days, Soul." Her expression suddenly softened, her eyes turning from fire to glass. "I'm moving back home in two days."

"I know?" he said, even as his heart constricted at the thought.

She laughed and it sounded like cracking ice. "When were you going to tell me you had a crush on me? The very last minute, with my dad glaring over my shoulder?"

Just like that, the ground tilted at an impossible angle and he leaned back into the wall. Fuck. _Fuck._ How long had she known?

"Please say something," she said.

He licked his lip and forced his voice through his too-tight throat. "I played you a song."

Her breath shuddered in her chest. "Yeah," she said, voice quiet. "I was there."

"That was me trying to tell you," he explained. "I thought it would be safe, you know? You'd either understand what I was saying, or you wouldn't, and either way would be fine."

She gave a confused shake of her head.

He tried again. "You're my best friend, Maka. I didn't want to lose you. And if you don't feel that way, then we can just, you know. Still do this."

A laugh escaped her and she put her fingers to her lips. "It won't be the same. "

"Don't say that," he said. His heart beat way too quickly behind his breastbone.

Maka took a deep gulping breath. "It won't be the same because we won't be the same. Not after this."

She stepped closer, tilting her head up to look at him. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, making his hands shake. He didn't know what was happening, what was going to happen. It terrified him.

Her eyes searched his and he couldn't look away. They stood toe to toe and she smiled, tight and scared.

"Kiss me, you dummy," she said.

Everything stopped. His next blink took a thousand years, a thousand heartbeats.

Then his hands were on either side of her face and he kissed her. Kissed her like an inexperienced nerd, kissed her like a dream, kissed her like he was crazy about her. Her hands reached for his waist and pulled him close. He stumbled into her and righted himself, parting his lips and going gentle and insistent and soft and needy. Beat for beat, she met him.

When they parted, they were panting like they'd run a mile, their foreheads still pressed together.

"I liked my song," she whispered.

"Good," he laughed.

"Promise you'll play it for me again when you visit this summer."

"You got it."

They were smiles and skin, laughter and love, and kisses, kisses, kisses.

Later, as they walked hand in hand in front of Black Star and Tsubaki on the way to dinner, the blue-haired athlete leaned toward his girlfriend.

"I think our roommates may be into each other," he said with a smirk. "What do you think?"

"I think you're probably right," she answered.


	11. Prohibition

**A/N: Hey all - I know I've been a little scarce lately... holidays + sicks keepin' me down. I'm working my way out of the slump, though! Slowly. Still working on other stuff (like Budding Trees, promise!), and hopefully will have more to post soon. In the meantime, here's a one-shot from a Prohibition Era prompt! As always, thank you so much for all the reviews, comments, favorites, follows, etc. both here and on Tumblr! They make my day.  
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><p>The Green Mill spun lazily overhead, casting its harlequin light over the building and recalling the streets of Paris. It shone brighter than Maka's eyes and she sheathed her sneer, careful to keep her face doe-sweet and smiling. Kili Rung nudged her with an elbow, cocking a brow above her black specs.<p>

"You ready? We don't have all day to wait. The audition's calling." Kili ran a hand over her close-cut braids, her dark skin shifting with every turn of the infamous windmill atop the jazz club.

Maka pulled out her pocket mirror and checked her hair and lips for the fifth time in the last hour. She had to look the part.

"Hold tight," she said, snapping the compact shut. "We're not really angling for the job, anyhow."

"We still gotta sell it," Kili said with a shake of her head. "You know who else sings here? Billie Holy Pipes Holiday, that's who. She's the bar we're aiming for, and being late isn't gonna help. Come on, slowpoke."

Maka took a breath. "Now or never, I guess."

There was no line - still too early in the evening for the main crowd to come out. The girls walked straight up to the doors, their heels clicking against the street. Maka did her level best to look innocent and more than a little vapid. She was a fresh young thing looking for her big break alongside her girlfriend, nothing more.

As they came up on the green double doors, a lithe arm barred their path. Maka followed the red-tipped nails across scarred knuckles and muscles working under smooth skin to find the arm attached to a tall blonde with a face full of secrets. From the shadows at the other side of the door, a second blonde emerged, this one shorter, younger, and even more foreboding despite her wide smile. It didn't take a sharp eye to figure them for sisters.

The shorter girl played with one of the tight curls in her bob as she tilted her head to the side and sized up Maka and Kili. "Hope you got the passcode, sugar and spice. The boss is real insistent about that lately."

"Patty, don't go scarin' the canaries," the other woman said, taking a drag of her cigarette. She didn't use a filter or a clip like ladies usually did, she just smoked it straight. "I'm sure they got it. Yeah, girls?"

Maka wanted to narrow her eyes and step up to the challenge. It took everything inside her to force nervousness over her features and look to Kili.

"Orange bitters," Kili answered without hesitation, crossing her arms with a bored sigh. "Pretty sure that's tonight's code."

Patty giggled. "Oh, I like them, sis. They're good." She winked at Maka. "You gotta work on keeping the fire outta your eyes, though. Dead giveaway."

The would-be singers tensed, certain their cover was blown to bits already, but the door guards remained relaxed and made no move to raise an alarm.

"You going to rat us out?" Maka said, dropping the act.

"Nah, don't worry none," the taller sister said. "I'm Liz, and you've met Patty. A little mockingbird sent word ahead. We been expecting you."

Mockingbird? The image of white streaks across a dark wing flitted through Maka's head, and the meaning was clear enough. Kid had managed to get news to their people on the inside. These two girls were unfamiliar to her, but that just meant they'd been under longer. Maybe they'd even originally been Capone's girls and flipped to the Spartoi Crew.

"We cool, then?" Kili let some of her own nerves through the cracks.

Liz nodded and took another drag of her cigarette. "Cool. Boss should be here inside an hour. You two find any trouble, you give a holler." She moved aside and popped open the door for them.

Just before they went inside, Patty put a hand on Maka's arm.

"Do me a favor, will ya?" she said. "You see a blue-haired buffoon in there, you grab him by the pec and you twist real hard, all right? Tell him he still owes me six dollars."

Despite her natural wariness, Maka couldn't help the smirk on her face. "I think I might be able to manage that."

"Good. And remember..." Patty put a finger to her lips. "Speak easy."

The inside of the club was smoky and several shades darker than the twilight outside. Maka blinked her eyes to adjust and followed close behind Kili, whose silver dress shone in the dimness like a lantern in fog. Scant regulars and henchmen milled about, bellying up to the bar or staking out usual tables. A big round table sat directly in front of the small stage, and it didn't need the permanently carved "reserved" sign to give off an aura of "sit here at your peril."

That was Capone's table. That's where she'd meet his eye for the first time.

As they squeaked past the bar on their way backstage, a flat palm connected with Maka's rear, hard, and she went stiff as a board. Kili's hand on her arm didn't stop her from turning to skewer the culprit with a sharp glare. The palm's owner grinned from the bar, his blue hair vivid in the low light.

"Nice assets," he said. "Can't wait to see them on stage."

Beside him, a young man with hair far too white for his age sipped on his bourbon and branch before he slid wine-dark eyes over to his friend. "Might want to apologize to the talent if you know what's good for you," he said.

The muscled fool held up his hands. "Fine, fine. My apologies, sweetness. Break a leg."

"Oh I plan on it," she said. She didn't say whose leg, or that she'd be paying back a favor for a new friend the first chance she got.

Once they'd managed to make it to the curtain without further incident, they ran headlong into a girl their age with hair pinker than an early-morning sunrise and a feather clip that was liable to cause injury if she kept whipping it around.

"Hell's bells," she spat, stooping to snatch her notes off the floor. "And you are?"

Maka pitched her voice as chirpy as she could manage. "Kili and Maka, here for the audition!"

"Fantastic, another couple of green girls looking for their name in lights," the stage manager said.

Another girl with a cascade of long dark hair hung down from a rafter, a smudge of grease beneath her eye. "Be nice to the new blood, Kim."

"Worry about your own blood, Jackie," Kim snarled. "That and the lights. Get."

The girl named Jackie shrugged and hauled herself back up to focus on one of the stage lights.

Kim glanced back at her papers. "Well, you're on the list, so at least there's that. We're going to have to come up with better stage names, but we can worry about that after you've proved you have a lick of talent. Go on up the steps and get ready. I'll let the accompanist know your selection. You'll perform right after the boss gets in, so look sharp."

Without waiting for a response, Kim sped off in a whirlwind of silk skirt and swishing feather.

Maka shot a glance back up to the rafters to see if Jackie was listening before she leaned in and admitted, "I'm nervous."

Kili shot her a big grin. "That's why you're backup. Just follow my lead."

"Not about that," Maka said, pitching her voice lower.

Her friend squeezed her hand. "Just reconnaissance tonight, kiddo. Don't forget."

"I know."

There wasn't much to prepare on stage. Jackie'd already set up a pair of silver microphones, so all they had to do was test them while she gave thumbs up or down from above. Maka warmed up her voice as best she could - she'd never been very good at this sort of thing. A clink near her feet drew her eye and she met the gaze of the white-haired man from the bar. He'd set a glass at the edge of the stage. When she raised her eyebrow in question, he tapped his throat.

"Lemon tea with honey," he said. "Helps the pipes."

She stooped down to pick it up, never looking away. She noticed him noticing the way her legs bent before he looked back at her face. The hand in the pocket of his pinstriped suit twitched like he was tapping his leg.

"Thanks," she said.

He nodded and went to take a seat at the piano. So he was tonight's accompanist, then. Maka hid her smile behind her warm drink as she sipped.

In a flash, the low rumbles filling the room went dead still and she looked to the door, knowing what she'd find there. Al Capone himself strode inside with a door girl on each arm, followed by his crew. The blue-haired jerk from the bar peeled off to join them, earning a sharp kick from Patty, which he dodged out of what looked to be habit.

Maka stood and busied herself adjusting a microphone that needed no adjusting, feeling the familiar heat of old anger creeping up her neck. Five years ago, the man now taking his seat below her had ordered his goons to off her Papa, and her memory filled with white walls and stiff linens as she held his hand and helped nurse him back from the brink.

Papa had lived that day, but as she met Capone's gaze with a simpering grin that barely hid the venom behind it, she vowed that he wouldn't be so lucky.

But first, they had an audition to stumble through.

The lights went up and she saw stars, which thankfully blocked the mob boss from her view. She listened close for her cue, the distant sound of piano notes floating up to her. Kili took the lead effortlessly, slipping into the lyrics of "How Come You Do Me Like You Do" with a voice like rose petals and cherry wine. Maka couldn't compare, so she was happy enough filling in the backup vocals. It wasn't great, but it was passable, and with Kili stealing the show, they were sure to get the gig.

Not that it mattered. The gig was in four days, and with any luck, Capone's crew would be a smoldering ruin in three.

They bowed to scattered applause and hollers, hurrying off the stage and straight into Kim. She looked begrudgingly impressed.

"Not bad, girls. The boss gets the final say, of course, but I'd say you've got a shot. Now get." She flitted her hand at them and bustled off.

Maka grabbed Kili by the elbow and pulled her deeper backstage. "Now's our shot. Let's go."

They untangled themselves from the curtains and walked along the back, feeling the wall for cracks and crevices. Maka counted three hidden compartments and two storage chests when they came out into the dressing room hallway and ran smack into the piano player and the handsy jerk. The latter waggled his eyebrows at her.

She responded by twisting his pec so hard he doubled over.

"You dare assault a god?" he whined, peering up at her with one eye. "What gives?"

"That's from Patty," she said. "You owe her six dollars."

The man stood and opened his mouth, but he didn't have a chance to get a word in before she decked him in the jaw.

"And that's from me, you pig."

He worked his jaw and rubbed the place where she'd hit him, unfazed. "You done?"

"For now," she said, hand on her hip.

"Just playin' my part, woman," he shrugged. "The show must go on, you know."

The pianist shook his head. "You got some kind of death wish, Star."

"And you," she poked the other man in the pinstriped chest. "Shouldn't have given me that tea. You're not supposed to know me, Soul."

"No one knew a damn thing," Soul said grumpily, rubbing the spot where she'd jabbed him. "How'd this get turned around on me?"

Kili leaned in. "Hate to break up the reunion, but we've got a production room yet to find. You two had any luck yet?"

Black Star tilted his head back toward the hall. "Nothing solid, but we seen 'em rolling barrels out in the alley, so we suspect it's this way."

They all started down the hall when Maka felt Soul's hand on her arm. She looked back at him in question.

"I think there's something this way, too," he said, pulling her gently the other way.

"What?" Star said. "Since when do you-"

Kili was already yanking on the back of his collar. "Come on, genius. We'll cover more ground if we split up anyway."

Once they were out of earshot, Maka smirked over at Soul. "Another room?"

"Yes m'am. This room, in fact."

He opened the nearest dressing room door and pulled her inside, giving the space a quick glance for interlopers before pressing the length of his body flush to hers and leaning in for a kiss. She twined her fingers in his hair out of pure habit, pulling him in deeper and deeper still.

When they'd had their taste, he moved his mouth to her neck, the heat of his breath making goosebumps trail down her back.

"I hate this job," he whispered against her skin. "I hate being away from you. Remind me to smack Kid one when it's all over."

"I miss you, too," she sighed. "Three more days."

"Three more days," he agreed, his tongue tasting the dip in her throat. "Your vocals have gotten better."

She ran her hands over his shoulders, scratching at him through his jacket. "I practiced. Too bad you don't get to hear it again."

"I think I will," he said before going to his knees and running his fingers over her belly and hips to the hem of her short skirt, trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh.

Maka hitched her breath and waited for him to make her sing.


End file.
